This Christmas Together
by Tigrin
Summary: Treasure Planet: Jim's 7 years old and Christmas is coming soon... but when Jim's father is put out of work because of an illness, the Hawkins family falls apart... will Jim get his one wish this Christmas? (Complete!)
1. Scene 1 Waiting

Author Note (3/30/03): _I didn't know this fanfic would end up being so long, heh... ^^; So I'll update this..._  
Author: K. Haggerty / Tigrin  
Contact: padfoot@tigrin.net / AIM: OPotterYouRotter  
Start Date: 12/21/02  
End Date: 4/21/03  
Rated: PG (For language and some thematic elements)  
Genre: General/Drama  
Summary: Set around the time Jim is 7 years old, the Christmas before Leland leaves. The story begins a few weeks before Christmas. Jim is still a relatively happy boy, but he's aware his family is starting to fall apart. Leland is rather short-sighted when it comes to his family. But when Leland falls ill and is put off work for two weeks before Christmas, things become especially strained for the Hawkins family, and Jim will try anything to help his father - which could be his last chance. Mostly a family drama that explores how Jim changes towards how he is in the movie as well as Leland's personality and why he takes off.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters, places, names, etc. are (C) Disney, and based on the movie as well as associated books (The Art of, Jim's Journal, etc.). Some events are based on research done of 18th century Industrial Revolution England. Only the original characters (The Rileys, Samson, Thomas, Bleacher) are of my own creation, but are based heavily on Disney's property all the same. I am making no sort of profit off of this fanfic; it is merely out of personal interest.  


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**This Christmas Together**

  
    The sun was just starting to disappear below the chiseled horizon of plateau tops, casting an ashen blue shade to the shadows as the red glow sank with the sun, to be replaced with creeping darkness and an endless blanket of stars. The night's first breath was stirring along the ground; the chill breath of approaching winter, frosty and damp. The cold gray-blue washed over the metallic thatched roof of the quaint Benbow Inn, flooding the front steps with a sea of shadow. On the steps a boy sat shivering, watching the sun set over the docks beyond, waiting. The warm firelight filtering out of the inn's windows onto the cold ground was inviting, beckoning him back inside; yet he sat there, a little boy no older than seven years, huddled in his jacket. His round, innocent blue eyes were a mimicry of the old, dusty landscape. The boy's wild brown hair was indistinguishably black in the dusk, fluttering about in the breeze. He was a lonely sentinel, perched on the front step watching the docks, ears strained for the sound of solar-powered engines winding down, eyes searching for sails against the horizon.     Behind him the front door creaked open, and a slit of firelight fell upon the front steps, coupled with a breath of warm air. The boy twisted around to look up above him at the figure standing in the doorway: a young woman with long brown hair wearing a splotched apron, looking down at him in concern. "Jim, dear, it's time to come inside... it's getting late, and you'll catch your death of cold out here," she said to him softly.     Jim's round face sank into a heart-rending pout. "But Mom... Daddy's not home yet. I'm waiting for him."     Sarah Hawkins looked out at the horizon just as the last of the sun disappeared. The night breeze tousled her hair, sweeping away the warmth radiating from the inn door. She looked back down at her son's face, and her heart wrenched to see the longing there. Quietly she closed the door behind her and sank down behind her son, taking him up into her lap and setting her chin on top of his head with a sigh. "Daddy should be home soon... we'll wait for him together, okay?"     Jim smiled. "'Kay," he chirped, and settled down into his mother's arms.     As the stars twinkled out in the sky and night descended, the two watched the docks, mother and son, waiting. 


	2. Scene 2 Solar Flare

    The fire crackled in the young boy's ears as he hovered between dream and wake. His cheek was pressed hard into the couch pillow, his small hands gripping the tattered blanket covering him. Groggy questions murmured at the back of his mind, and faintly he heard low voices; they seemed distant and as unfocused as a blurry camera lense, but slowly became more distinct...     "...He was up for hours waiting for you, Leland, sitting outside in the cold... where have you been?"     "We've been through this already... I've had to stay overtime at work; we need that extra money. And there's been cutbacks, they're closing off a new level every day..."     "I understand that, and I know you have the best intentions, but… we need you, Leland. You can't keep doing this... think of how it's affecting your son... how it affects _us_..."     "But… please, Sarah, listen to me... if I lose my job, all we've got is the Inn... _we won't be able to live off that, can't you see?_"     "Maybe we won't and perhaps we will, but that's a problem we'll face together when it comes. For now you have to think of what's most important… you don't even notice your own son anymore. He admires you, and he loves you so much, but all he ever sees is your back… you have to decide if these couple extra credits are more important than losing your family."     "I am thinking about what's most important." Heavy footsteps thudded against the wooden floor towards the couch. Jim's somber blue eyes fluttered open, and he looked up to see the shadowed form of his father above him. "Good morning, my solar flare..." Leland whispered as he picked the sleepy boy up and cradled him in his arms - strong arms massive and comforting to the boy.     "Daddy... you're home..." Jim said quietly, still half asleep. He smiled up at his father's face, his round cheeks returning some of their color. "I waited for you."     "Mommy told me you did... what did you see in the stars last night?" Leland began to climb the stairs to Jim's room. Sarah was still standing at the door, watching the two disappear, knees shaking. With a trembling sigh she stumbled over to the couch and sank down into it, taking the ratty blanket into her hands.     Jim grew weary of speaking, trying to describe all the adventures he had gone on during the long day past. He fought to stay awake as Leland slipped him into bed, desperate to keep his father's uneasy face into view; he was afraid he'd close his eyes and his daddy would disappear. He sunk into the mattress with a fatigued sigh, vision clouding and voice fading, until sleep finally swept him off to dreams filled with flying space galleons and glittering treasure. Leland paused, kneeling next to the bed, looking on his son's peaceful face - then quickly rose, slipping out the room. The inn was silent the rest of the night, those few hours before the dawn came and day started anew in the little town of Benbow, Montressor. 


	3. Scene 3 Morning at the Benbow

    The morning came drab and dreary as always. The air outside the Inn was thick and moist, the clouds obscuring the sky and threatening rain. Jim woke, puffy-eyed and tousle-haired. The pale light filtered through the gossamer curtains, which were still in the stuffy air of the bedroom. Jim lifted his head off the pillow; his father was no longer there. It was something he was all too used to. He slid out of bed, his bare feet tingling on the cold floor, and stood up. Stumbling forward to the chest of drawers, he just narrowly avoided toys and storybooks left haphazard on the floor ("_I'll clean them up later, before Mom throws a fit,_" he thought to himself). He didn't have many toys; most were secondhand. This didn't really bother Jim, for he wasn't a needy boy. Living on their income, he had learned to cherish whatever he had, and that was enough for him.   
  
    Changed into his day clothes, Jim hopped down the stairs as he put one last stocking on, lost balance and tripped the last few steps; he hit the landing with a painful thud. Looking up with a wince he noticed the Inn's few guests were already up and seated around tables, and were every one of them staring at Jim. Flushing scarlet he smiled sheepishly, then picked himself up and skipped to the bar. His mother was there, her long hair pulled back into an untidy ponytail, her arms full of cleaning rags and glasses. Seeing her son, she gave a sigh of relief. "Jim! Thank goodness," she said to him over the counter, fumbling as a glass tried to escape the pile. "Will you help Mommy out and take these dishes to the kitchen?" She jerked her head towards a pile of dishes in a box on the floor, scrambling to put the glasses down before they all shattered.     "'Kay!" Jim replied, and hobbled over to the box. Pulling up the sleeves of his jacket he grabbed each end of the box and - with some effort, as the box was almost as large as himself - carried it past the swinging door to the kitchen, stepping up onto a stool and dumping the dirty dishes into the industrial sink with a splash and a clatter. Rubbing his nose with the sleeve of his jacket (Mommy was always telling him not to do this), he went back out to Sarah, who was now serving breakfast to one of the Inn's guests: a rather scrawny looking old alien lady, with a warty toad-like face fixed with a scowl. When Jim came up and gave his mother's apron a tug, the alien's bulbous eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.     "I'm done, Mom," he said with a pleased grin. Sarah looked down at Jim and his jacket now splotched with soapy water from the big sink and rolled her eyes.     "Thank you, Jim… now, will you help the other guests with breakfast? And please, try not to spill anything else on your clothes!"     Jim just giggled and ran off to the kitchen. He scuttled around bussing the tables, smiling for the guests and saying "Good morning!" politely as his mother had taught him, and the guests either returned the greeting, smiled back, or (in the nanny's case) just continued to frown and mutter. Besides the old crone there was a rather speckled alien with a trunk-like nose and tiny spectacles poring over thick books; and a Benbonian family, a mother with a twin boy and girl. The kids were delighted with Jim, though Jim had always found the frog-like aliens with their bug-eyed stare rather disturbing. The twins brought out little musical instruments and started a tune, crooning children's rhymes loudly, tapping their webbed toes on the wooden seats-   


_When I am grown to man's estate  
I shall be very proud and great  
And tell the other girls and boys  
Not to meddle with my toys_

  
    With breakfast over and the tables cleared, the children danced to the rhymes, giggling. There was call for a story and Jim found himself put forward; soon they were all pulled up around the bar (even the nanny) and listening to Jim's tale, who sat on the counter, feet dangling over the edge. He gestured with his hands as he told the story, and even the bookworm was engaged by the tale, one Jim knew by heart since he was a little boy.     "… And then, out of nowhere, Flint and his band of blood-thirsty pirates swooped in on the unsuspecting galleon!" He waved his arms about, as if to swoop in and smother something small. "Flint looted the ship, gathered up all the treasure - mountains of glittering gold and jewels - and the pirates would get back on their ship and POOF!" Jim leaped to his feet with the effect, and the rapt audience flinched in surprise. "Flint, his pirates, and the treasure disappeared into the etherium without a trace. But its said that Flint hid his plunder on Treasure Planet, where the loot of a thousand worlds is piled high in glimmering stacks, waiting for someone to claim it." Jim finished his tale with a smirk as his small audience applauded, the Benbonian twins cheering and clanging their musical toys. Sarah wrapped her arms around Jim's shoulders from behind the bar as the clatter died. The trunk-nosed alien cleared his throat.     "_Hrumph_, a remarkable son you have, Mrs. Hawkins, and a fine Inn if I might add." There was a murmur of assent; even the old nanny was inclined. "Will young master Hawkins be a miner like his father? A fine occupation for such a determined and hard-working young lad."     Jim shook his head just as his mother was about to answer for him. "Nope! I'm going to be a spacer! I'm gonna have my own ship one day, and I'll fly it all over the etherium with my crew… and one day, I'm gonna find Treasure Planet!" he replied with a wide smile. The guests gave a chuckle.     "And quite an imagination, too!" The Benbonian mother chimed in. "If only all youth had dreams that high..."     "I wanna be a pirate!" The Benbonian boy exclaimed, one eye shut and swiping at his sister with an imaginary cutlass.     "You most certainly will not!" The mother cried sternly, but it was useless; the twins were too wrapped up in their game.   
  
    The morning whittled by, and soon the guests were gone. Jim was helping tidy up the rooms and tables with his mom, talking happily of the guests, when the door to the Inn opened again, and Jim fell silent. A gust of chill wind swept through the Inn as two figures, large and small, shuffled quickly into the Inn and closed the door behind them. Both figures were wearing thick coats, soaked with rain; the hoods thrown over their heads obscured their faces. Jim stood back by the tables, apprehensive, as Sarah hurried forward. "Here, let me help you with that," she said as she helped them remove their coats.     "_Gracías_, my lady." The tall figure said gratefully in a rather nasal accent. Both humanoid aliens had long muzzles and faces like a greyhound's. Tall ears sat on top of their heads, which twitched this way and that. Their skin was a pasty steel blue, similar to Montressor at dusk, and their round eyes were a blue as deep as the Lagoon Nebula, with a star's twinkle. The smaller figure was actually a young boy, and the taller his father.     "Please, you're welcome to sit down." Sarah said to the two guests as she put the coats neatly on a standing rack. Jim quickly pulled out two chairs and hurried forward to take the baggage from their paws. The youth's face split into a toothy grin when he saw Jim, and Jim smiled back weakly.     "We hopes you don't mind us staying a bits, _senorita_?" The father inquired of Sarah as he sat at the table. The son scrambled into the next chair. Jim stood and stared for a moment, luggage still in hand. "My _hijo_ and I, we heards of the Inn at the village docks and we thoughts it a night place to stay while the shop is being readied?"     "Of course, sir, you are most welcome here," Sarah said as he she came over behind Jim.     The alien grinned. "_Bueno_! We'll only be a few nights, _sí_? Ah, my name is Carlito Riley, and I'm opening a metalworking shop here with my son, Poquito." He pulled over Poquito as he introduced him, who gave a timid smile. Jim found it rather odd that Carlito should say he was a metalworker; he had seem blacksmiths before, and they were usually big and burly - but this alien was slender with long brittle hands, more of an artist than a craftsman.     "Nice to meet you, Mr. Riley," Sarah replied as she held out her hand, which Riley clasped and shook gently. "I'm Sarah Hawkins, and this here is my son, Jim."     "Well, _hola_, Jimmy! You should show young Poquito around, he is in need of a friend here in this new neighborhood," Riley said merrily to Jim. Jim blushed and looked away.     Sarah looked down at her own son. "Jim, will you take up the luggage and show the Rileys to their room?" Jim nodded slowly, arms full of baggage, and tottered towards the stairs. Poquito jumped out of the chair and followed, all the while rattling off questions in his high-pitched accented speech. The boy sighed as he hauled the baggage up the flight of stairs, which seemed ever longer.   
  


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Author Note: _The rhyme in this chapter is taken from a book of children's verses by Robert Louis Stevenson._


	4. Scene 4 Adult Conversation

    Jim slouched on the floor by the stove, blue eyes watching the flames flicker behind the grate. He clasped and unclasped the fringes of the blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders, twisting and threading the coarse material between his fingers. Thoughts smoldered like the coals behind the grate, preoccupied with something but settled on nothing. His skin burned with the warmth of the fire, until his eyes watered and he buried his face in the folds of the blanket. Faintly he heard his mother in the background, conversing with Mr. Riley as supper prepared in the kitchen. The aroma of sizzling meat in a pan teased his senses amidst the white noise of voices. Poquito laid a frail, timid hand on Jim's shoulder and the world shattered; Jim jerked his head up to blink at Poquito with wide eyes, who looked taken aback.     "_Hola_, Jimmy…" Poquito said to Jim with a trembling voice, hands behind his back and rocking back and forth. "Are you crying?"     Jim was just about to answer when the Inn door flung open and Leland stepped unto the threshold, bringing with him a wash of rain that cascaded across the wooden floor. He quickly shut the door, but the damage was done. There was a momentary silence as they all took in Leland's bedraggled appearance; he was drenched from cap to boot, and the faint, watery smudges of coal could be seen on his face and clothes. He slouched with the weight of weariness on his shoulders, and thick bags were under his eyes as he returned the uncomfortable stares. The tension stretched for a moment…     "Daddy!" Jim called with a sort of swollen joy, and he scrambled off the floor and ran to Leland, arms upheld. Everyone breathed again.     Leland gave Jim a weak smile at his eager face, but looked past him to glance at the Rileys and Sarah. Sarah was hovering over the table where Riley sat, seemingly in shock; but she snapped out of her trance, dodging the table and crossing the room to Leland.     "Leland Hawkins, you're _soaked_!" she wailed, aware she was voicing the obvious. Before he could get a word in she was tugging the sopping cap and jacket off of him, nonchalantly throwing them on the coat rack. She shooed at him with her hands. "Go upstairs and change before you catch pneumonia or some other ungodly disease! Good heavens…"     Leland held up his palms in front of him. "Yes, of course, Sarah, I was just about…" He trailed off as he jerked away and began to trudge up the stairs. Jim dropped his arms and stood for a moment, crestfallen; then he slunk back to the stove and collapsed onto his spot with a little sigh.     Mr. Hawkins tramped back down the stairs not long later, relatively dry, hair slicked back and sporting a new jacket and breeches. The haggard look was gone, but the change of clothes didn't bring about a change of heart; the lines under his eyes still sat chiseled on his face. By this time supper was just being set around a table, crammed with a couple extra chairs for the company. Jim was hunched over in his chair, only half listening to Poquito telling him a story of his previous hometown.     "… And there were buildings, Jimmy, tall skyscrapers that climbed high into the etherium, and little boxeses with moving pictures in 'em…" Mr. Riley was listening to listening and chiming in with a "_Sí_, yes" every so often, large ears flitting back and forth in delight. He turned to look at Leland as he came down the stairs and, raising his hackles into a smile, rose to meet him.     "Ah, Mr. Hawkins, at last! If I may speaks so, you are looking much drier," Mr. Riley said, extending a calloused paw.     Leland shook the hand with a friendly smile, wincing a bit at Carlito's strong grip. "Why thank you, sir, and welcome to Benbow. I see you've already met my wife and son…?"     "Yes, sir! Delightful, the both of them. Your Jimmy has been kind enough to gives us a good look about the town, we feels quite welcomed." And he introduced himself and his son still preoccupied in speaking to Jim, who had sparked a bit at hearing mention of pirates ("_Sí_!" Poquito was saying. "Big nasty pirates, with great ugly faces and missing tooths…"). The adults waited for Sarah before sitting down, Mr. Riley and Mr. Hawkins conversing animatedly on various topics, from politics to finance.     "_Claro_, Mr. Hawkins," Carlito was saying. "Sarah tells me you works in the mines here in Benbow… how does that goes?"     "Well, to tell the truth, it's debilitating… the rain water tends to collect and flood the lower levels sometimes, we've been using this clunky sort of machine to pump out the water… the industry's been taking a hit lately, demand's not high enough, and the mines are being scraped raw with no one buyin'…"     "And the mines are owned by this Doppler family, is it not? Aren't they concerned?"     "The Dopplers? Those fools don't know a thing about mining, nor is the concern of the workforce taken into consideration… meaning no offense, of course. Now that Delbert, he's a good man, he just needs to get his head out of those books and look out the window. Society gap, you see… there are the have and the have-nots and there's nothin' in between, and ignorance either way. And about consideration… why, just last week one of our men was caught in a cave-in, and what did they do? Booted 'im! No concern he was crippled. And the working conditions… the fever's spreading, you can see it."     "Daddy, are you going to be booted?" Jim spoke up, the first time he had uttered a word the entire meal.     "Of course not, Jim," Leland replied rather curtly. "And don't interrupt, this is an adult conversation."     Jim blinked. "But Dad, I'm almost eight years old… I'm old enough…" he said quietly, but no one was listening. He hung his head and poked at his food bitterly with his fork. Poquito refused to meet Jim's eyes, and said nothing more of pirates or picture boxes the rest of the night. 


	5. Scene 5 The First Snowfall

    Young Jim awoke early the next morning to a frost in the musty air. Shivering he sat up in bed, sheets pulled up tight, and blinked sleepily at the window. The morning sunshine glowed white behind the curtains. He slid off the mattress, tugging the sheets with him, and went to the windowsill. Cautiously he pulled back the curtain with a trembling hand while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the other. Catching sight of the scenery outside his window, he squeaked and jumped back. All weariness gone, he stumbled out of the room and shrieked "Momma! _Mom_! It's _snowing_!" as he leaned over the railing opening to the dining room below.     Sarah stepped into view, already fully dressed. She was wiping her hands on her apron as she craned her head upwards to see Jim. "It's what?"     "Snowing, Mom, it's snowing!"     "Oh?" And then as an after thought, added, "James Pleiades Hawkins, you step back this instant before you fall off that railing!"     Jim, who had been leaning precariously far over the edge in his excitement, set his feet back on the floor. "Can I go out, can I?"     Sarah looked hesitant. "Well…"     But Jim had already run back to his room to change. A few moments later he was barreling down the stairs, long sleeves flying out behind him as he skidded to a stop and made for the door, big smile on his face. He did not get far when he felt himself suddenly nabbed by the collar of his jacket. All his momentum came to a halt as he got caught by the armpits and his feet slid from under him, leaving him hanging there. Big smile gone, he looked up to the amused face of his mother. "What is it, Momma? Can't I go? _Please_?"     "You can go, but not in _that_."     Ten minutes later Jim came hobbling out of the inn, so layered in jackets, scarves, mittens, and galoshes that he could have rolled all the way down the hill into Benbow. Poquito, who was already out, burst into laughter when he saw Jim this way.     "Aww, shattup, you blue-furred scrat," Jim muttered as he attempted to tear off enough extra jackets to allow mobility.     "I so sorry, Jimmy," Poquito wailed between ecstatic sobs, "It's just, you lookeds like furry snowbell in outfit. Remindeds me of my old pet Fluffy, always constipated."     Jim snickered. "Oh yeah? How's _this_ for constipated?!" And with that he scooped at the two inches of fresh snow and hurled a handful right at Poquito. The snow pelted the alien right on the nose. Poquito blinked a moment in surprise before breaking out laughing again.     "Oh, Jimmy is goings to pay for that!" Poquito stooped to gather up a handful of snow and Jim squealed, diving for cover just as a snowball whizzed past him and struck the door of the Admiral Benbow.     The battle that ensued left the snowy lawn in shambles, most of the arriving and departing guests scrambling away in terror for fear of being pelted. The two had dug trenches on either side of the path and taken to lobbing snow at each other, as well as the unfortunate passersby; it was chilly enough outside that the snow didn't melt, though the young soldiers soon found themselves scraping for ammo. It was thus that Delbert Doppler chanced upon the battlefield.     Delbert was a rather gangly, dog-faced humanoid alien with floppy ears, oval spectacles, and a tiny ribbon in his hair. He trudged through the snow in an extravagant winter outfit, muttering aloud to himself when he almost tripped.     Jim peeked over the edge of his trench and saw Doppler coming. "Poquito!" he whispered across the way. "Someone's coming!" He poked his head up just long enough to get pelted smack between the eyes before Poquito heard what Jim had said.     "Oh!" Poquito clasped both paws to his mouth. "Sorry, Jimmy!"     "SHH!" Jim hissed, wiping the snow off his face with one mittened hand. "Let's surprise him!"     Poquito nodded and the two shrunk down low in the trenches, a pair of hunters about to pounce. Doppler came closer… _closer_… suddenly the two sprung from their hiding places, and a rain of snowballs collided with Doppler's chest, splattering his tiny spectacles and leaving him spluttering.     "Good gracious!" Doppler yelped as the two youngsters rolled in fits of giggles and laughter at their antic. Delbert tried desperately to clear his glasses, hands shaking. "You two uhh… _delightful_ youths should mind yourselves. I say, what was that for?"     "No reason," Poquito chirped, shrugging.     "And we're not children," Jim added.     "Of course not, Master Hawkins, child. Is your mommy home?"     "She's in the kitchen, sir," Jim replied, eyes narrowed.     "Ah. Spank you. I mean, thank you." Delbert smiled as he walked past them, believing to have victory. Poquito was muffling giggles behind his paw; Doppler's coattails sagged under the weight of freshly applied snow. 


	6. Scene 6 Tea and Doctorates

    There were no guests in the dining room that morning, and Sarah finally had a chance to relax. Stoking the coals in the stove to bring some warmth back to the chilly Inn, she sank down in a chair at one of the tables, one hand holding her forehead and the other clasping a cup of tea. The ticking of the clock on the wall and the crackle of the small fire were calm and melodic to her troubled senses. Just as she let out a long, peaceful sigh a polite knock on the door jolted her out of her reverie, causing the hand holding the cup to shake and sprinkle droplets of scalding tea on her skin. With a gasp and a hiss of pain she put the cup on the table and stifled the hand on her apron, clutching it for a moment before hurrying to the door.     When she opened it, her first impression was being faced with what looked to be half the Montressor Main fashion line. She smiled and leaned against the doorframe. "Oh, hello, Delbert."     From beneath the frilly collar of his coat, Delbert gave a warm grin, oblivious. "Goooood morning, Sarah! Mind if I come in?"     Sarah shook her head and steeped aside. "No, of course not! I was just sitting down to tea, you can join me if you'd like," she said as she helped him remove the coat, blinking curiously at the pile of snow on his coattails.     "Certainly, that would be wonderful! I should love a cup of tea…" said he cheerily as he stepped into the Inn. Then he saw the expression on her face as she looked at his outfit and a tinge of red glowed underneath his brown skin. "Oh, uhh… you see…" he stuttered as he began to shed more of the velvet material, until he was standing in his usual, simple outfit of tatty breeches and waistcoat. "The family is over for the holidays at the Manor, and uhh, my Aunt is in fashion design…"     Sarah held up a hand to stop him as she put the coat on the rack, which looked sorely out of place in such a careworn home. "It's alright, Delbert, I perfectly understand."     He looked very relieved. "Oh, thank goodness… I mean, it's not that I don't like my aunt's clothing," he added quickly, "It's just, it really isn't _me_, I don't dress like that you see and I look quite ridiculous as I don't even _like_ to wear those kind of coats they're so heavy and confining and purple just _really_ isn't my color and-"     "_Delbert_, it's _fine!_" Sarah laughed. "Have a seat and I'll bring you some tea to calm your nerves."     Delbert seemed rather flabbergasted, mouth ajar. "Ah… thank you, Sarah." He went and sat next to the place Sarah had vacated, feeling quite foolish and muttering to himself about countenance among women and frilly clothing given by snobbish aunts.     Sarah returned to her seat next to Delbert with another saucer and steaming teacup, which she placed before him before sitting and attending to her own. "So Delbert, how is the doctorate coming?" she asked as she took a sip of her cooling tea, peering over the rim at the dog-like alien.     "Splendid! I'm expecting I might receive it any moment now… just uhh… working out the kinks," he replied as he attempted to figure out how to hold the delicate teacup with his clumsy fingers. He finally resigned to holding it with both hands much like a bowl and lapping at it, as was habit.     "I see… so you have your thesis all worked out?"     Delbert almost dropped the teacup. "Th- thesis?"     "You know, that paper on your astrophysics theory you're required to write for the doctorate… you've only been talking about it for months."     "Oh, _that_ thesis…" He gave a little cough and set the teacup with a muffled clatter upon the saucer. "Coming along great, marvelous, just having some problems with procrastination - pro - _demonstration_, demonstrating my theory, you see." Another forced cough as Sarah raised a brow in suspicion. "But by my word, Sarah, it will be a stunning thesis! Why, finally I will be able to procure myself a place in the limelight of astrophysics; the Academy will _bow_ at my feet," (He made a dramatic sweep of his arms as he said this) "and _finally_ I will achieve the title I have toiled for these past years: _Doctor_ Delbert Doppler!" He finished with a rather theatrical pose, as if receiving some divine gift from the heavens.     "Uh-huh. Well, no one deserves it more than you do, Delbert," she said with a shake of her head. "So what do you plan to do with that title?"     Delbert froze a moment, and then dropped his arms. "You know, Sarah, I really do not have an inkling… I just like the sound of _Doctor_." Made rather uncomfortable by Sarah's look, he fumbled to change the subject. "So uhh, how have things been between you and… you know…"     "Leland?" She sat back in her chair with a sigh, clutching the empty teacup. "He's been getting distant lately… more than usual, anyway…" Her gaze drifted to the window, which was covered by the holoblinds with springtime scenery. "He hardly ever talks to Jim, just scolds him… I mean, I can appreciate his diligence to his job, but I have a feeling it isn't going to be long until…" She cut herself off, biting her lip.     Delbert shook his head. "I wouldn't worry about Jim… he's still young but he's a strong lad, he'll make it through."     "I hope you're right, Delbert, I really do… I just don't know how he'll take it if anything should happen to his father, especially at Christmas. He just adores Leland… I only want him to be happy, that's all."     "Well, he seemed perfectly jovial when he was pelting me with balls of frozen hydrogen dioxide this morning along with his blue-furred accomplice…"     "He did _what?_" she exclaimed as she snapped back to attention, torn between amusement and surprise. "Oh, I'm _so_ sorry about that, Delbert… that explains the snow…" She rose and went to the door. "I'm going to have a _talk_ with him about…"     She stopped dead as she pulled open the door and was immediately faced with what seemed to be a hideously mutated ball of maroon fluff. She gasped and clutched her heart as Jim poked his face from under the creature he was holding up, big smile on his face once more. "Can I keep it, Momma? _Please?_"     "I… uhh…" she stuttered in shock as the bundle gave a little shake and blinked two huge, golden eyes at her, pupils in slits. "James, what _is_ that?"     "It's a kitty! Or at least, that's what Daddy told me it was… he showed me one once that lived in the mines, they eat scrats," he said as he hugged the thing to his chest. The creature seemed hardly affected and lay like a rag doll in Jim's arms, making a sound similar to the rattled purr of some dilapidated machine. "Poquito and I found her all alone, I think she was abandoned… can I keep her? She needs a family, and I thought she could share ours."     Sarah blinked speechless at the ragged, pathetic little creature in the boy's arms and gave a sigh. "Alright," she began, then hurried on as James gave a gleeful shout and he and Poquito tumbled into the Inn, tracking snow with them. "But it better be house trained! Jim, did you hear me? _Jim!_" 


	7. Scene 7 Patches

    "Up! Up! Wake up, Jimmy!"     Jim was jostled awake by the sound of Poquito's off-key singing as he bounced up and down at the foot of the bed. Startled (and more than slightly traumatized by the sight of the alien in footed pajamas on the bed) Jim jumped up in surprise, lost his balance, and slipped over the side of the bed onto the floor.     "_Poquito!_" he yelped from amidst a tangle of bed sheets. "How did you get in here?!"     Poquito sat on the bed simpering, the mattress still vibrating. "Mrs. Hawkins! She tolds me to wakes you up for school. _Papá_ left early to set up shop." Poquito's blue eyes twinkled. "School, Jimmy! My first day! Isso excited…" he squealed, clapping his paws.     Jim raised an eyebrow. "Couldn't you have done it a little more gently?"     "'Gently'?" Poquito repeated, face blank. "_No comprendo_."     Jim rolled his eyes and sat up. "We've really got to work on your English… come on, we'll be late for school."   
  
    Jim stood outside the door to the inn, schoolbooks tucked under his arm. At his feet the maroon feline sat bored, ears flicking and huge eyes half lidded. She was cleaned up a bit since the previous day; Jim and Poquito had washed the cat in the sink when Sarah had refused to let the filthy creature run loose in the house. Both were perhaps washed more than the cat was. The kitten seemed to have taken an immediate attachment to Jim and would follow him everywhere, constantly mewling and trying to capture every bit of attention and praise she could possibly catch. Jim had given up on ever shaking the kitten off, and just looked down at her with a sigh. He shivered in his jacket next to Poquito, who still looked as if Christmas had come a few weeks early.     The door opened and Jim looked up to see his parents embrace farewell; Leland was dressed for the mines. Sarah pulled away and looked at Leland's face with concern. "Are you all-right? You look like you might be getting ill…"     Leland rubbed his eyes. "I'm fine, Sarah, just a little tired… don't worry, I'll be back tonight."     She smiled. "I'm holding you to that, you know," she said as he crossed the threshold, shoulders slumped. He didn't even look at the three youngsters as he walked past, heading straight for the docks. Sarah glanced at the disappointed look on Jim's face and bit her lip.     "Leland!" She called after him. He hesitated. "Will you please take Jim and his friend to school today?"     Jim's heart leapt as Leland spun around, gaping at his wife. "But-"     "Just this once."     Leland seemed to struggle to find some excuse, then sighed and waved to his son. "Come on, then," he muttered as he turned to his longboat once more. Jim felt his chest swell up in excitement as he clutched his schoolbooks and followed his father, Poquito and the kitten tagging along. Looking behind him for a moment Jim, felt as if he had two pets instead of one.     "Ooo, a boat ride!" Poquito yipped. The little feline mewed in agreement. "I likes boats. Do you likes sailing, Jimmy? I do… I remembers this one time with my _abuelo_, Pedro…"   
  
    Leland found it difficult to concentrate as he cast off the little boat. His arms felt weak and his movements sluggish, and if he tried to move too quickly his vision would haze or blacken, leaving him blinking. Rather unintentionally he found himself explaining things to his son off-hand: how to work the sails, how to power the small engine tacked on the end of the craft, how to handle the steering and thrusters. He didn't notice the rapt attention the young boy paid as he clung on to every word and went over every action in a string of questions - much to Leland's amazement later as he found Jim easily handling the small craft on his own.     "You catch on quick!" Leland observed in astonishment as Jim adjusted the solar sails, the longboat lifting high above the docks with the thrusters. The boy blushed at such a compliment and couldn't keep himself from grinning. He was nothing short of elated, finally having the attention of the father he worked so hard to impress.     Poquito was clinging to the side of the boat, peering over the edge at the ground far below. From here they could see down the hill to the little hamlet below, clutching to the edges of a deep ravine. Ships of various types hovered and bustled around the ports. It was another dreary, overcast winter morning, and the landscape was hazy with fog. The chill breeze swept the travelers and filled the sails, and the craft faintly hummed with the warm pulse of energy. The kitten scurried up to peer over the side of the craft, took one look at the height and gave a sort of choked cry, sliding down onto the seat and shivering.     The moment could have lasted forever for Jim; but time was out of his young hands, and soon they were hovering on the outskirts of the grassy ball field next to the school. The two children climbed over the edge of the longboat and jumped to the ground, clutching their books. With a mewl of protest the little kitten scrambled over the edge and leapt after them, not wanting to be left behind. They waved good-bye as the longboat lifted off again and Leland soon disappeared. Poquito tugged on Jim's sleeve anxiously and two set off across the field to the schoolhouse, the kitten tagging along behind them. The grass was withered and the ground cracked from the season, and the frozen dirt crackled beneath their shoes as they walked.     Students of all ages were playing outside the schoolhouse, secretly wishing class would never start. Like the mines, the one-room schoolhouse seemed to be in a state of neglect. The play equipment squeaked and the paint chipped. Most of the children were the same frog-like species that often stayed at the Inn, but there were a handful of various other alien species and a few humans as well. The schoolteacher was one of these; she was a tall young woman with red hair pulled back beneath a bonnet. She smiled at Jim and Poquito as they came up.     "Good morning, master Hawkins," she greeted Jim.     He blushed. "G'morning, ma'am."     She noticed Poquito grinning next to Jim. "Oh, hello… are you new here?"     Poquito nodded. "_Sí, senorita_! My name is Poquito Riley; I joinings Jim here at his school."     She winced a bit at his accent and grammar, but kept smiling. "I see… well it is nice to meet you, Poquito! Is this your pet?"     Jim shook his head. "No, she's mine."     "Ohh," she said, bending down to look at the golden-eyed kitten. "She's… _adorable_… what is her name?"     "Patches."     "'Patches'? Whyever did you name her that?"     "'Cause that's what Poquito had all over him after we gave her a bath," Jim said with a grin. Poquito scowled for a moment.     She laughed. "Well remember, Jim, there are no pets allowed in the schoolhouse, not after that incident when Samson tried to bring a mantabird to class… you'll have to leave Patches outside."     "Yes, ma'am." Jim dragged his friend away to the back of the schoolhouse, where the other children were playing. The older children were clustered around the wall of the building, talking; there weren't many teenagers or older children at the school. Most teens who lived in Benbow had families with some trade, or fathers who worked at the mines; so most could not attend school, for they usually would enter the trade or start work at the mines at a young age to support their family. Jim looked on the older kids with mixed admiration and fear; fear of growing up into that world and leaving all his childhood dreams behind. He shook himself and ventured cautiously to the play structure and the swing set, where the younger kids were. While Jim in comparison to others of his age was rather quiet, he was still open and friendly with other kids, having no reason not to be. Poquito, being a new face on the playground, was awarded immediate attention; the other kids all stopped what they were doing to look him over or run up and bombard him with questions.     All the excitement soon caught the attention of a trio, who came swaggering over to see what the fuss was about. The other children darted out of the way as the three approached. Patches, who was at Jim's heels as usual, saw them and the fur on her back began to rise. All three were perhaps only a year or two older than Jim, but carried themselves as if they were some of the older kids. Two of them were human boys; one with violent green eyes that twinkled maliciously in his piggish face, the other covered in freckles. The last was a tuskrus, a heavy-set alien with muscular arms and tentacles for legs. The tuskrus seemed rather removed from the other two, arms crossed.     Jim took a step back apprehensively as the green-eyed boy, apparently the ringleader, stepped up to them. Poquito was hardly intimidated; he just gave the three a friendly smile. The boy smiled back, but it was an entirely different sort of grin. "Hey, Hawkins," he said to Jim. "Who's the new kid?"     Jim shifted uncomfortably, but Poquito spoke up for himself. "Poquito Riley. And you?" he said cheerfully, holding out a paw to shake.     The boy looked at the paw as if something diseased. "Riley, eh? What's your father?"     "My father?"     "Yeah, densadron. You know… banker, blacksmith, miner…?"     "Oh! You means his job! _Papá_ works metals in his shop… a 'blacksmith'?"     The boy shrugged. "That's not too bad… at least your father isn't a _miner_," he said with a sidelong glance at Jim. Jim flushed but said nothing. He finally took Poquito's hand and shook it. "I'm Samson, by the way. Freckle-Face here is my brother, Thomas. Our father owns the bank in town. And this is Bleacher." He pointed out the tuskrus who was hovering on the edge of the conversation, expression indescribable.     Poquito blinked. "'Bleacher'? Why is he called that?"     "'Cause he bench-presshed shome kid into one lasht year," Thomas replied, who seemed to have a slight lisp with his buckteeth.     Poquito and Jim both looked at the tuskrus rather uneasily, who seemed to grin at the memory. Patches hissed.     Samson jumped back in surprise at the maroon kitten. "What is _that?_"     "She's my kitty. We found her yesterday," Jim spoke up.     "You _found it?_ You couldn't afford to buy a pet so you took in the ugly thing?"     Thomas laughed. "It looksh like a burnt gill-rat!"     "It probably has all sorts of _diseases_… hey, maybe if you're lucky you'll catch one, Hawkins!" Samson added.     Jim's cheeks burned and he sunk into his jacket a little. Poquito glanced at him, unsure what to say. Patches bristled, pupils wide.     Samson stopped laughing and shook his head. "We're wasting our time with these scrats, guys. But listen, Riley; I wouldn't hang out with wimpy riffraff like Hawkins here. He probably couldn't afford it," he said with a smirk as he turned his back on them, the other two following suit.     "Shee you in class, Hawkinsh!" Thomas called back over his shoulder.     The three stood watching them until they were on the other side of the playground. Jim's shoulders slumped and Patches' fur relaxed vaguely. Poquito just looked bewildered. "I do not understand, Jimmy," he said, all the bounce taken out of his voice. "Was it something I said?"     Jim shook his head. "No, Poquito. It's not you."     "Oh." He paused. "They don't seems to like you much. Can I help?"     "No… no, you can't help. Don't bother," Jim muttered as he started to trudge off, head hung slightly. Poquito looked after him in confusion, and Patches mewled plaintively. The school bell rang and the children left their games and began scuffling to the front of the building, chatting and gibbering as they clutched their books, oblivious to the tears shining on Jim's face. 


	8. Scene 8 Prince of Thieves

    The children scurried into the schoolhouse, the floorboards creaking underneath their feet and sending clouds of dust billowing up into the air, tickling the children's noses and leaving them coughing and sneezing amidst chuckles. Light filtered through the filthy windowpanes, reflected on the dust in long streams. The vaulted ceiling smelt strongly of damp, musty wood from too many rainy days. The room itself was a dark, dreary sort of space, most of it taken up with rows of rusted desks. A stove sat in the far corner near the door, rapidly falling into disrepair; it would sometimes spew smoke into the classroom, flushing students and teacher alike spluttering and coughing out into the cold winter day. There was one long digital board on the back wall, which acted like a chalkboard of sorts; the screen was slightly disfigured on the ends from neglect, and sometimes during lessons the whole thing would crackle with indignation. The students shuffled to their desks, all too used to the dilapidated surroundings, becoming a tumult of laughter, squeaking chairs, and creaking footfalls.     Poquito was standing in the doorway, trying desperately to shake off the maroon feline. "Stay! You have to keeps out here, Patches," Poquito was saying to the kitten, who looked up at him with a perplexed expression from the steps. "_Lo siento_, Kitty! Jimmy and me, we backs soon after school." And he turned and shut the door on the kitten. Patches sat for a moment on the steps, staring at the door where she had last seen Poquito's back, and then curled up in abandonment with a grieved sigh.     Jim wiped his eyes with a sniffle. He stood slightly removed from the other children, shoulders bunched. With some hesitancy he wandered to an empty desk, sinking down in the chair. Poquito skipped to the adjacent desk and sat down, grinning with expectation. A small group of kids came over to chat with Poquito, fascinated. Then they noticed Jim slumped in his seat, and - being excessively curious but never-the-less friendly - attempted to catch his attention. They had soon made a game of it, calling his name, making faces, hugging him; but the boy remained as blank as the board. The children abandoned their game, puzzled over their friend's sudden change. Slowly the students filtered to their seats, and (with much persuasion by the teacher) settled down to a dull murmur.     With all the age levels in the same room, the teacher couldn't teach them all at the same time; instead she started the younger children off with their work first, then moved on to give lessons to the older kids. The very young kids had already devolved into a numbers game, holding up their fingers to one another as they counted aloud, giggling. For Jim and the others around his age she left to their workbooks; Jim took out a little black book with a tattered leather cover and flipped to the middle. Beaming up at him was a print etching of a daring looking young man, a sack of coins clutched in one hand and a big grin on his face, next to a short story and some questions on the end. Forgetting his troubles for a moment Jim leaned his head on his hands, his feet swinging above the ground as he read the little story.   
  


"_Robin Hood lived long ago. He was very brave. He was very smart, too. All the poor people loved him. He would sneak up on the rich people and steal their treasures. He gave the treasure back to the poor people. The sheriffs tried to catch him. Robin was too quick for them. He made the rich people very angry. They could not catch him either. Robin was smarter than the rich people. Robin was a hero. He met and married a beautiful lady and lived happily ever after._"

  
    "I wish I could be Robin Hood…" Jim whispered to himself as he took out a pencil and began to answer the questions on the story. He wasn't working long when he was prodded in the back. Jim twisted around to see Samson sitting behind him, grinning from ear to ear, pencil in hand.     "Hey, Hawkins," Samson whispered gruffly. "What's the answer to number three?"     Jim frowned. "That's _cheating_."     "So what? The teacher will never know. Just tell me. Come on, pal."     Jim felt his blood boil in silent rage. "Why don't you use your daddy's money and just _buy_ the answer?" He turned away from Samson's astonished face, shaking slightly.     Poquito shook his head. "Jimmy, I don't understand. What are 'sheriffs'?"   
  
    It was almost lunchtime. Jim was ringing his hands nervously; time seemed to moving unbearably slow, and his stomach was gurgling and growling. Breakfast seemed ages ago. He looked up at his teacher attempting to write a list of historical battles on the board. The board buzzed and hissed, the screen flickering. The younger children were all sleeping against the wall, clutching toys and sprawled over one another, crashed from using up all their energy (for the moment, anyhow). Jim felt his eyes droop just looking at them, and he stifled a yawn. Poquito seemed as awake as ever; he was reading Jim's copy of the little black literature book, intrigued. The young alien's ears suddenly perked, and he swiveled around to look out the windows by the door. He nudged Jim, who flinched in surprise.     "Jimmy!" Poquito hissed. "Someone coming!"     Jim turned in his seat just as the door cracked open. All the kids who weren't sleeping or watching the teacher struggle with the board in amusement turned to look at who entered. Jim had to crane his head above the others just to see.     The young man who entered was dressed rather shabbily in baggy miner's clothing, torn and patched in places, splotched with coal dust. The man's face was just barely visible under dirty smudges; the only part of him that seemed remotely clean was the man's jade eyes, glistening with some hint of sorrow as he looked at the children anxiously. At the muttering of the students' voices the teacher turned from the board and looked at the young man in shock.     The man took off his cap quickly, turning it about in his calloused hands as he rocked on his feet. "I'm sorry to disturb your class, miss," he said in a rather shaky but pleasant sort of voice, touched with some strain of emergency. "But…" He seemed to hesitate as he looked at the children, and for a moment Jim could have sworn the man's eyes flickered to him and back again. The miner made up his mind and hurried forward, taking the schoolteacher aside. The children whispered to one another. Jim felt his heart clench when the man and the teacher glanced at him as they talked.     Finally the two seemed to have come to some understanding, and the schoolteacher turned to look at Jim, making sure she had his attention. "Jim Hawkins?"     "Yes, ma'am?" he replied, his voice a little jittery.     "This young man has come to take you home early. Gather your things."     Jim looked around, heart pounding as he put together his books and stood up. All the children were staring at him; Samson, Thomas, and Bleacher were huddled and seemed to be snickering about something.     "_Hasta luego_, Jimmy!" Poquito called after Jim, waving. Jim stumbled to the back of the room, feeling the weight of all the stares. He joined with the young man at the door, and rather reluctantly took the man's hand. Jim cast one last desperate look at the class before stepping outside. The door groaned to a shut behind them.   
  
    The two walked along the road in silence at first, a silent tension growing between them. Jim clung to the man's hand, wild theories growing in his mind, each more horrible than the last. He finally swallowed his fears and tugged on the man's hand. "Excuse me, mister," (The young man looked at the boy in surprise at being addressed this way.) "But what's the matter? Why'd you take me out?"     The man looked suddenly very anxious. "Oh, well… y-you see, Jim…" His voice stuttered weakly. He cleared his throat and continued. "I work with your dad, and he… well… I was asked to come get you."     "Why? Is something wrong? Is something wrong with momma? Does she need me?"     "Well… yes and no… that's not really…" He cast a glance at Jim's face and mentally gave himself a kick. _Just say it, you fool!_ "You see, your dad had to go home early from work, too," he said slowly. "Your… your father is very sick."     Jim frowned in concern. "Is he okay? He's okay, isn't he? He'll get better, right?"     "I'm not sure, Jim, I'm not sure… I hope so…"     Jim stumbled along, numb. Thoughts raced through his young mind, and his eyes watered. At the first sniffle the man hesitated, stooped and lifted the boy up into the crook of his arm, the schoolbooks placed under the other. Jim buried his face in the man's jacket, letting the scent of dust and coals numb his thoughts. Ahead the edges of the hamlet loomed, and beyond the Benbow Inn sat atop its hill against the sorrowful, overcast sky. 


	9. Scene 9 Broken Pieces

    Sarah stood by the window, listening to the mournful patter of the rain on the glass with batted breath. Dark lines of worry flowed from her anxious eyes as they darted back and forth in their gaze, waiting. The steady tick-tock of the wall timepiece became the drum of her heartbeat. Her long hair fell frizzled from worry on her tense shoulders, and she hugged herself, as if she'd surely fall apart should she let go.     Tick-tock. A movement outside the window - bleeding patches of color shifting in the darkness. She held her breath. Tick-tock-tick. Now there was no mistaking; she hurried to the door and flung it open.     There stood a young man, filthy clothing dark with rainwater. In his arms he struggled to clutch a curled bundle, which, on turning its head, turned out to be a very doleful looking young boy.     The man tried to smile, raindrops glistening in the firelight from the house as they trickled down his face. "Excuse me, my lady, but I believe this belongs to you."     Tock. Her shoulders slumped in relief and her heart seemed to disappear as she reached out desperately for her son. "Kent, thank goodness!" The young man handed over the boy without hesitation, and she welcomed her wet and bedraggled son into his mother's arms. He was getting almost too big to hold. She turned from the door and the chap Kent followed her in, shutting the door on Winter's tears and shaking himself, oblivious to the splatter on Mrs. Hawkins' well-kept floor. "I was beginning to worry about you," she continued, though whether she was speaking to Kent or her son was uncertain. "Was there any trouble?"     "Not particularly, no," Kent replied, slipping off the wet jacket and placing it on the coat hooks. "I believe the schoolteacher might have been a bit, uh… _startled_ by my appearance, but once I explained the situation to her, she was more than supportive."     "That's good, I was hoping she'd understand… this hasn't happened before, not like this… thank you so much for everything, Kent, we really appreciate you going out of your way…"     "Oh, it's no problem, Mrs. H… how is he, anyway…?"     Sarah bit her lip. "I'm not sure; the doctor's upstairs with him now."     Jim clung to his mother's dress sleeve, staring off blankly into space with his solemn blue eyes as she rocked him side to side. With a start those eyes suddenly widened, and he struggled to escape Sarah's arms.     "Jim? Jim, what is it? What's wrong?" she stuttered as she set him down.     "Patches! I left her at school!" he said with an edge of dismay to his voice, hurrying to the door.     "Oh honey, not now, I'm sure Poquito will take care of her…"     Regardless Jim tugged at the doorknob, and sitting on the steps, looking quite pitiful, was the forgotten feline. She let out a long, sobbing cry underneath a blanket of sopping fur.     "Patches! I'm so sorry!" Jim cried back as he let the kitten in, despite Sarah's unvoiced protests. The kitten shook the droplets from its fur and tottered off dejectedly to bask in front of the fire.     A door opened and closed above, and they all looked up to see the doctor leaning cautiously over the rail. "Mrs. Hawkins, may I speak with you for a moment?"     "Yes, of course, I'll be up in a second," she called back up, and headed for the stairs. Jim ran after her, but was suddenly caught by the shoulder.     "Hold on there, buddy," Kent murmured in Jim's ear. The boy stood impatiently under Kent's hand, watching his mother speak to the doctor with longing. His heart wrenched at the grave expression on Sarah's face. After a moment the two came down, and exchanged a quiet farewell as the doctor grabbed his hat and left Sarah with some parting instructions. Then with a patter of rainfall and a creak of the door, he was gone.     Sarah turned to Jim and Kent, staring off past the floor in a sort of numb shock.     Kent hesitated and cleared his throat, scrunching the shoulder of Jim's jacket under his hand. "… Mrs. Hawkins?"     She dabbed her eyes with the corner of her apron, hands shaking. "He… he…" she stuttered, voice shaking, "The doctor says he'll recover, in a few weeks… a respiratory infection… all that dust from the mines, the weather; he's been straining his lungs…"     "Is that bad, Momma? Is… is Daddy going to die?" Jim ventured, voice overwrought. He had met other children before who had lost fathers… their daddies went away into the sky, into the sunlight, and never came back. He didn't want his daddy going away like that, never ever.     Sarah looked alarmed. "No! No, oh Jim, of course not…" She kneeled down in front of her son, who looked questionably into her pained and fearful eyes. "Daddy's just… going to be very sick for a while, that's all, but he will get better. He's going to be fine, everything's going to be fine." (Silent, Kent wondered whom she was really trying to convince.) "But…" And here she turned to glance at Kent. "Your father won't… won't be working anymore, at least, not while he's sick."     Kent covered his forehead with his hand and seemed to take in a long, thin breath. Sarah clasped her mouth at the reaction and her shoulders shook, eyes tearing slightly. Jim looked perplexed. "Oh…" he said at length. "But that's good, right? Daddy will get better here with us, and he can go back when he's all better, right?"     Sarah searched the boy's face, eyes glittering. He was too young to understand… too young. There was no use burdening him with more than his little heart could hold. "When he's better, he will... I hope he will."     "Uh, Mrs. Hawkins…?" Kent whispered, and then pointedly: "Perhaps it's getting a bit late…"     She blinked at Kent a moment, and then understood. "Ah, Jim, why don't you go up to your room and take a nap? It's been a long day… and Patches looks exhausted…"     "But _Momma_," Jim whined, glancing at the maroon kitten curled up in front of the fire. "Can't I see Daddy? Please?"     "No, Jim, I don't think it's a good idea for you to visit Daddy tonight… now go on, I'll be up in a few minutes to tuck you in."     Jim hung his head dejectedly and trudged off. He scooped up the kitten in his arms (who made a slight murr of disagreement of being dragged away from her precious hearth) and headed for the stairs, boots thudding on the steps as he went up to his room and closed the door.     Kent let out the breath he had been holding as Sarah stood up next to him. "Oh heavens, I'm so sorry…"     Sarah looked around at the inn, at the little pockmarked tables and the chipped dishes waiting to be taken into the kitchen, at the clock tick-tocking on the wall as the pendulum swung. "Two weeks, Kent… and this is all we have now," she said with a sigh. "Hopefully it will be good enough for him. Hopefully it will last."     Kent looked down at his shoes. "Christmas is coming in two weeks."     Sarah blinked, and a tear fell down her cheek. "For everyone else, perhaps, but not for Jim."     "Well… you can take the kid out of Christmas but you can't take the Christmas out of the kid, or so they would say. Don't worry, Mrs. Hawkins, we won't let you miss out on the holidays… you three deserve it most of all."     She smiled at him, eyes full of tears. Despite herself, she chuckled. "You're unweariedly kind."     Kent returned the smile and dipped his head to hide the tinge on his cheeks. "Well, Leland's a great guy with an extraordinary family," He said as he crossed the room to the door, taking up his hat and jacket. "And if he doesn't appreciate that, then he doesn't deserve you two."     She just grinned. "Take care of yourself, Kent."     He waved to her as he opened the door, cap on his head and jacket pulled over his shoulders. "I will! Good luck with everything… and say goodnight to Jimmy for me!"     And he was gone, like so many shadows that had passed that door into the rain.   
  
    Sarah placed her hand on the doorknob, turning it cautiously, as if it pained her to do so. Peeking through the slit in the door, she looked in the room.     The boy sat cross-legged in his pajamas on his quilted bed, tinkering with some little toy in his lap. The maroon kitten lay curled up at his feet, the sound of her purring reverberating through the bedding. Outside the rain clouds were beginning to clear, and the light of Crescentia barely shone through the gossamer curtains flitting in the breeze of the open window. A candle sitting on the nightstand gave the room a sort of warm, yellowed glow, which flickered at the shadows furtively.     Jim looked up at his mother for a moment and went back to his work. Tentatively she stepped into the room, watching him trying put the toy back together. After a pause, she spoke. "What are you up to?"     The boy didn't look up this time. "Fixing it."     She stared at him. He continued to work quietly at it, his little hands going over the pieces, working with a sort of stubborn ferocity. "Jim, it's broken, you can't fix it. We can just throw it out…"     "No. I can fix it," he countered bluntly.     She blinked and looked at the ground, then slowly sat down on the edge of Jim's bed. She hesitated for a moment, and put her hand on top of Jim's. He stopped, relaxing slightly under her touch. "You can work on it tomorrow, okay?" she coaxed as she slipped the pieces from his hands.     "'Kay…" Jim yamned, turning about and slipping under the covers. Sarah set the pieces on the nightstand next to the candle and helped Jim settle down against the pillow, tucking in the sides of the quilt. He smiled at her.     She smiled in return. "I love you."     "I love you, too," he whispered back, cheek pressed against the pillow. "And I love Daddy."     "I know you do." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then stood up. She blew out the candle and the little room was plunged into shadow. With one last look at him curled up in his bed, bathed in the light from the window and eyes closed peacefully, she closed the door.     His eyes fluttered open, and looked to the broken pieces sitting next to the candle, still smoking. "I can fix it," he whispered, then closed his eyes once more and turned over. At the foot of the bed Patches let out a long sigh, and the room was silent. 


	10. Scene 10 Strawberry Wine

_Additional disclaimer: This scene was heavily inspired and based on the songs "We Danced Anyway" and "Strawberry Wine" by Deana Carter, 1996/1997. Credit for the idea, therefore, goes to the songwriters and not to myself... mostly._  
  


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    Her husband's illness quickly took its toll on Sarah, between juggling the inn keeping, handling the family's now crippled finances, and taking care of both her son and Leland. She was ever rushing here and there, her voice quick and strained as she struggled to keep things in hand; indeed she was so preoccupied that the thought of herself never crossed her mind amidst the dishes to be washed, medicine to be given, guests to be welcomed and necessities to be purchased. At the end of the day she would collapse on the bed, exhausted, and quickly black out to dreams filled with more dish washing, medicine giving, guest welcoming and necessity purchasing. Dark shadows began to grow under her eyes, and her hair was perpetually disheveled and frizzled. The Inn guests on seeing her always refused to meet her gaze, and took to handling their own business for her - whether out of compassion or pity, it depended.     Perhaps Sarah couldn't be blamed for spending most of that hustle and bustle with Leland. She would pause and just sit with him, heart melting as she watched him sleep, wheezing painfully. If he was awake the two usually sat in silence (with the exception of Leland's slow, congested breathing), gaze flicking to one another then quickly fluttering away. If they talked, it was short and casual. How are you feeling? _Same as always. How's the Inn?_ It's fine. Jim is fine too. He's very worried. Leland would frown and look out the window, and the two would lapse into silence once more, Sarah compulsively smoothing out her apron and sitting back in her chair, eyes closed.     This particular morning, three days after the doctor had left, she sat in her chair as always. The window was framed with a border of snowflakes, the frosty pane glowing with the morning sunlight peeking through the clouds. The glow seemed to give her face a pallid halo as she watched Leland; he was sitting up with his back to the delicately carved headboard, twisting the quilt in his hands and staring off past the floor. With a wretched cough that made Sarah's heart wince, and a long sigh, he sank down into the sheets, his head against the pillow. His eyelids drooped wearily.     Looking at him, eyes flickering, a smile tugged at Sarah's sallow face. Unrestrained she chuckled, eyes twinkling above the dark circles.     Leland's eyes fluttered open. "What? What is it?" he muttered hoarsely.     Sarah leaned back in the chair. "Oh, it's nothing… it is just…" Here she smiled again. "Do you remember when we went to the spring faire that one time, back on Terra? Before we got married?"     Leland paused, as if trying to recover some distant, forgotten memory. "Of course."     She gave a wistful sigh and leaned forward again towards him. "That was the best night of my life. You with your… hair slicked back, and that lopsided grin; and I in that dress Mum had made me… Oh, my parents were so upset about that! You remember, don't you? Father thought you were some dirty scoundrel, out to break hearts…"     He tried to laugh. "Maybe I was."     She just grinned. "… But I still remember the scent of those flowers, the people, the music; and you and I, under those stars…"   
  
_     Overhead the stars twinkled, seeming to sprinkle stardust upon them all. The streets were packed with families, lovers, and friends. All were talking heartily to one another, sharing succulent looking dishes at a slew of stands, steaming homemade stews and sweet pastries. Everywhere a myriad of pastel blossoms hung, their perfume thick in the air with the pungent whiff of steamed meats and the hay scattered on the ground. A band struck a lively country serenade to the festivalgoers, and by the stage couples danced, cheeks flushed and eyes reflecting the twinkle of star-crossed enchantment.     The spring faire had been her favorite time of the year since she was a little girl; and even now, a young woman at 17, that passion hadn't changed. It had been her idea to meet him here for this evening, and her chest fluttered with the brush of butterfly wings as she stood in that sea of people, elegantly laced sundress swishing around her heels, a cream-colored flower tucked in her shining hair. Her eyes scanned the crowd, every once in awhile standing on her tiptoes to peer over the crowd.     She sighed. Perhaps he wouldn't make it after all. She looked down at her feet, just as a hand was set on her shoulder; heart dropping out of her chest, she spun around, and caught her breath.     There he stood, smiling at her with that lopsided grin that had first captured her heart. He was decked in a neatly pressed long coat, the silver buckles shining in the soft lights strung low overhead. His olive eyes burned in his smooth, 19-year-old face, not yet touched by the cruel toil and darkness of coalmines. There was only she and he, two young lovers in a sea of people, just waiting to get swept away. In that moment the stars twinkled in their eyes, and there was nothing else.     They walked off together, her arm in his. They slipped through the crowd, the atmosphere and the feeling between filling them with laughter and warm conversation. The two met those they knew and didn't know along the way - a lovely couple, they would say as the two passed, as fine as they come; those two were going to make it. The couple would smile at the children as they ran past, throwing flowers and braiding them into each other's hair. The air was filled with good humor and joy; the couple stopped at one stand and picked up two glasses of a sparkling magenta drink to sip. The bubbles tickled her nose, and her senses filled with the aroma and taste of fresh strawberries. She laughed. He took her hand and they weaved through the crowed to the dance floor. The band strummed a quaint tune to the strings of a guitar, sweeping the lovers off their feet spinning into clouds of perfumed fantasies. Her face glowed as he called to her, coaxing her onto the floor.     Swift as the rise of the strawberry bubbles they were pulled into the current. He bowed to her and she curtseyed back, giggling. He took her hand and they were soon spinning and swaying to the time of the music. They found themselves singing along to songs they had never heard, the notes drowned with laughter and music. They danced, never leaving each other's eyes. Flowers and hay swirled around their feet, and children ran up to watch in awe, chortling to one another and taking up the dance. Quick and slow, spin and turn, they fell in with the music as quickly as they fell in love. Time seemed to move in a blur as the world spun away. At the last slow song they pulled close, hands locked. The song seemed to speak of them, though they didn't understand a word; and they danced anyway. 
_  
  
    The music seemed to play in their ears, as if projected over the echoes of time, and the scent of strawberry wine hung in Sarah's senses. Leland smiled at the memory. "Seems like ages ago we last danced…" he said, his voice strained to a near whisper. "We were so much younger then."     Sarah sighed. "Perhaps too young; but we were so in love… things were much simpler, then - carefree - everything ahead of us and nothing behind. I was so naïve; we both were… who would have…" Realizing what she was about to say, she cut herself off and bit her lip.     His face slackened, that glow fading. "I'm sorry, Sarah. Heaven knows I tried."     Her eyes shone with tears, and she just smiled at him in a don't-talk-such-nonsense way. She stood up and took his hand where it still rested on the bed. "No… you were a wonderful dancer."     The two hung on that moment in time; looking into Sarah's eyes, Leland caught a glimpse of that laughing 17-year-old, clutching an empty glass, head filled with strawberry wine, lips parted in the most beautiful smile that made the very stars fade in jealousy. A string tugged at his heart he hadn't felt in ages, and his stomach seemed to turn knots. As quickly as the moment came it was gone; her hands slipped from his and she stepped away. A voice from the parlor was calling to the master of the Inn; and with a moment's hesitation and one last glimpse, she slipped away.     Leland settled back against the pillow, eyes closed, thoughts and memories waltzing through his mind. Somehow he couldn't shake the laughter from his ears, the echoes of nameless tunes and forgotten faces left in a spin of time and pain. As he lay, his chest pulled tight and the faint hint of strawberry tugging at his senses, he wondered what had happened to those dreams. They were echoes through time, forgotten - he had forgotten love. The feeling had slipped from his hand; and as the snow fell outside the window, he wondered if he would ever find it again.   
  


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_Author Note: I know, I know, I promised Christmas-ness. Sorry. @__@ As noted at the beginning of the chapter, this chapter was heavily influenced by country music, and just the general feeling of romance from Valentine's Day (which is still today at the time I am writing this). Somehow "We Danced Anyway" made me think of them, and I just had to write this; while I've read and seen much Doppler/Amelia I have never read or seen anything for Leland and Sarah. I thought the flashback might be interesting as touching a point in the story essential to the plot; they must have been in love at one point to be falling away from it. I think it provides a nice emotional center for their relationship, and helps Leland to realize the absence of old feelings that contribute to him eventually leading. Anyways. Appologies for the rather randomness of the chapter; and this would pretty much be my first official piece of "romantic" fiction of any sort. Please don't stone me, I tried. ;; _


	11. Scene 11 Foolish Games

    Funny how time seems to slow when one is waiting desperately for it to pass. For a 7-year-old, Jim was no exception. Every minute of that first week ticked by painfully sluggish to his anxious young heart as he watched the Inn guests come and go, the snow fall and melt, the sun rise and set. Mother had no time for him anymore; which at first was frustrating, as he tried to get her attention in any way he could, only to have her ignore him or snap at him. With a sigh he would withdraw, play some meaningless game with himself and his broken toys, re-read old tales from dusty books with withered spines, or sit at his place in the big window, watching the clouds sift by. There was nothing to wait for now, only muffled hopes.     At times he would go in and visit Daddy. Momma was right - he must have been very sick. Even at seven the boy could catch the thick scent of fever in the air when he stepped into the stuffy little room where his father had been locked away. Jim would pad across the creaking beams of the floor, eyes falling on crinkled papers and old letters strewn haphazardly around the bed. Dirty mugs splotched with the dregs of tealeaves and half-empty glasses were stacked by torn medicine packets and wilted photographs on the bedside dresser, punctuated with cheesy "Get Well Soon!" cards in faded colors and sympathetic notes of concern. Jim would climb gingerly onto the bed, the scent of cheap cologne, coal dust, and tealeaves filling him with a haze of memory. Years later, on the loneliest of nights, Jim could still recollect that scent of his father, and he would be blinded by those bitter memories he would in time learn to lock away.     The first time he visited, Leland smiled, listening attentively as the young boy prattled and spouted anything that could be shared. Each time he came back, however, Daddy seemed to listen less and less, and smile less and less, to the point where Jim climbed up onto that bed one evening at the end of the week and there was nothing, nothing at all. The boy buried his face in the scent, clutching the blanket and murmuring for hours, until the murmurs eventually died and the sun set, and all that remained was a vast sheet of dark nothingness between father and son.     Something, Jim decided, had to be done. But try as he might, setting his young mind to think as much as he could (which Momma didn't like, as he was apt to break things wandering off in daydream), no solution came to him.     With the passing of the days came the herald of Christmas. It stung the air with the hint of baked cinnamon and the sap of evergreens. Snowflakes glistened as they fell on children's noses, to be rolled into snowballs and jolly snowaliens. Sarah set candles in the window and strung garlands of evergreen branches while Jim sat by the fire in his oversized pajamas, making crude decorations out of colored paper and yarn. A remarkable change seemed to come upon the people of Benbow, and despite the gloomy environment the atmosphere seemed almost buoyant. Strangers smiled and greeted one another like old friends in the streets, carolers belted joyous tunes from carriages as they passed, streaming waves of snow on unfortunate onlookers, silver bells tinkling. The more fortunate bustled about the hamlet, purchasing gifts for loved ones, children cramming their pockets with sweets and lace.     The Christmas spirit had assuredly won over Benbow, but the wisps of it barely reached the windows of the Inn. The Hawkins family was hardly cheered by the luminous season, with less food on the table each night, if at all. The trickling income of the Inn was poured into doctor expenses and medical bills, the remaining hardly enough to support the three (much less the restaurant and inn), with nothing to spare for sparkling toffees or lavish gifts in bright packaging. The Hawkins family began to rely on the generosity of its friendships to get by. Neighboring families would show up, blushing, to share some leftover where it "wasn't needed". School friends shared their sweets and trinkets with Jim, even giving Patches a satin ribbon with a little bell to wear (the children were endlessly cheered by the sound of Patches' tinkling bell as she tottered about). Kent came to visit at times to keep Jim company while his mother was busy and his father clung to recovery, along with the ever-cheerful Rileys and the bumbling Doppler.   
  
    Delbert came to call one chilly afternoon at the start of Christmas week touting the most peculiar ornament Jim had ever seen. He stood back watching, amused, eyes sparkling with curiosity as the dog-like alien struggled to pull the object through the Inn door. Equally bemused, Sarah paused to gaze at the spectacle as Delbert finally wedged a large, bristling evergreen inside the room, the branches of which seemed to sprinkle needles with the slightest touch. The roots of the tree had been completely hacked off, and the boy wondered if the poor thing would just wilt away in a puff of needles any moment to leave a very sad looking skeleton on their parlor.     "Uh, Delbert…" Sarah edged, staring bewildered at his proud yet goofy grin, needles stick in his hair. "Why is there a _tree_ in my house?"     "Hmm? Oh! Ah… Well, it's not just a tree…" Delbert began, fussing with the needles in his hair trying to remove them - which turned out to be a horrible mistake, as his paws were sticky with tree sap, and were soon glued to the shimmering locks. "This is _the_ tree!"     Jim giggled; Sarah raised a brow. "Is this something else of your Aunt's?" she pried, a smile tugging at her cheeks for the first time in days.     "Why yes, actually, now that you mention it. It's… rather a new tradition of the family. My uncle calls it a 'Christmas tree'; I thought it might help you with your, uh- Christmas cheer." he said, beaming, hair now thoroughly out of place and sticking every which way.     "What does it do?" Jim asked, stepping closer and peering around the tree. "Where do you plug it in? Does it use a solar crystal?"     "Uh… well, it doesn't do anything, exactly," Doppler replied with a canny, nervous grin. "And it doesn't 'plug in', per se… you just stick it by the fireplace and put decorations on it. Like the candles or the garland you have in the window."     "Oh." Jim sounded slightly disappointed. "Sounds boring."     "Shh, _Jim!_" Sarah hissed. "It's lovely, Delbert, thank you."     "No problem, Sarah! How is Mr. Hawkins coming along, pray tell?" Delbert pulled at the tree some more, leaving a trail of needles behind before it came to a disheveled rest beside the hearth. Jim glanced at the needles and began picking them up, one by one - one, two, five, eleven…     "Better, I suppose. He hardly talks to me now, though I know he can."     "Well that's a shame. That he isn't talking, I mean," Delbert added quickly. "Any thoughts on if he'll be better in time for the Christmas party?"     Sarah looked at the ground, shoulders slumped. "I'm not sure there will even be a Christmas party this year…"     Delbert's jaw dropped and Jim lost count. "_What?_" Delbert gasped. "But you have one here every year!"     Sarah was exasperated. "I just don't think we can afford it this year! Not with Leland out of work… not unless everyone else brought Christmas dinner…" She gave a dubious laugh at the mere thought of such an idea.     "That could be arranged."     "Well…" In a moment both were hanging off her arms, Jim on one and Delbert on the other, chiming a chorus of "Pleeasse!", "Please, momma, please?", and "Don't make me spend dinner with Grandma May! She's always teasing me about my _clothes_ and my _hair_ and…"     "Alright, alright!" Sarah shouted over their wails (Jim cheered and Delbert clapped his hands, chanting "No Grandma May! No Grandma May!"). "But you're cleaning up this mess first!"   
  
    Jim climbed up onto his father's bed later that night. The light of the stars and the Crescentia gave the room an ethereal glow. Leland was sitting up, seemingly lost in thought, making no acknowledgement of the boy's presence. Jim had expected this. He listened to his father's breathing, no longer as strained and congested as it had been a week ago, and watched his chest rise and fall, green eyes hardly discernable as they flickered in the dark.     "Daddy?" Jim whispered. Daddy's head tilted slightly, but otherwise there was no response. Jim looked away, then held out his clenched hand. Slowly his small fingers uncurled, revealing a few evergreen needles, ghostly in the starlight. "Mr. Doppler came today," The boy said softly, though it was as if he were speaking to an angel. "He brought a Christmas tree. It's downstairs. It's really pretty, now we've put my decorations on it. Momma thinks it's really pretty too. She wishes you could see it." He paused. "I brought you some. Do you like it?" Jim's eyes sparkled as he looked up desperately into his father's face, the needles in his cupped hands.     There was a long moment where Leland just started at the boy's gift, detached. Jim's breathing seemed to catch, his young heart beating anxiously in his chest. Slowly, painfully slow, Leland reached out a calloused hand and took the needles. He held them for a moment, then clasped his hand on the quilt. He opened his mouth, but no words came.     Jim dropped his hands and pulled his knees up, looking away from his father's face. Voices and memories flashed through his mind. _"Will he be a miner, like his father?" "Your father won't be working anymore…" "… I wouldn't hang out with wimpy riffraff like Hawkins here. He probably couldn't afford it." "Jim, it's broken, you can't fix it." "No, I can fix it. I can fix it…"_     He looked down at his small hands by his father's, so much larger than his own. Slowly a thought dawned on him; a plan, an idea, the only way to fix it. Surely it would work. Mommy would be proud, and Daddy… surely Daddy would love him then, he had to. Jim looked up at that face again. "Don't worry, Daddy. I'll set things right." He slipped off the bed and tottered to the door, casting his father one last, desperate look before walking out; just as his mother had done, though he wouldn't know it.     Leland sighed and held out his hand. He let the needles drop onto the quilt, scattered in the starlight. The game had to end.   
  
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Author Note: _This has been slightly edited as of 4/3/03 (original writing date: 2/24/03) due to some nice suggestions and corrections pointed out by Lycanthrope. Thanks again! =)_


	12. Scene 12 No Turning Back

Author Note: _The following scene could probably merit anywhere between a PG and PG-13 rating, due to some harsher imagery. The scene is based on the experience of children in mines during the Industrial Revolution. Err... so don't hurt me or something._

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    He stood on the floor of the lift, dwarfed and smothered by the tall forms that overshadowed him, staring up at the rapidly diminishing square of light that he knew to be sunlight. Slowly suffocating, his vision filled with a haze of dust that left him spluttering, his throat parched and breath wheezing, he had a sudden passing image of being buried alive.     It had been his first thought to run the plan by Poquito. It was strange, having someone to run to for help and encouragement; it was something he wasn't used to, and perhaps never would. Now buried in darkness, he remembered acutely the scent of warm sawdust just hewn and the pleasant sight of the morning sunrays shimmering on the fur of Poquito and his father in their quaint little workshop. Jim's exuberance as he proposed his plan seemed distant now; Poquito had shared Jim's enthusiasm, but Carlito had been more than skeptical. He had shaken a hot brand in the human boy's young face, pursing him as to whether he had permission for such a wild fancy. Inevitably, Poquito could only wave his good friend luck at the doorway, and Jim was left to face down his decision, alone.     It had only struck the boy now just how lonely and frightening that decision would be. The youth in him was ready to collapse into a fit of heart-wrenching tears, in hopes that Momma would came and rescue him; or to run sobbing back to the sunlight, clutching his ears with eyes shut tight from the horrors he had seen and was soon to witness. He wanted to quail in the stolid shadows of the men that stood around him, to claw at their pantlegs until they freed him from his self-imposed nightmare. But it was precisely those stoic forms, faces encrusted with the stains of wear and tear and hands scarred beyond reason, that kept him standing where he was, face drawn and hands shaking at his sides as his eyes darted around him and back up the shaft where the light was vanishing. With a breath, the light was gone. There was no turning back.     The lift came to a sudden jarring halt that almost threw Jim to his knees. Subconsciously he reached out and grabbed the fabric of a nearby trouser to steady himself, and immediately pulled away as a leering face looked down upon him. The men were filing out of the lift now, and Jim was tagging along, trying not to look horribly lost. In truth, he was completely out of place, and this hit him as he looked around the level they had entered.     What little light there was came from lanterns strung out across the walls, which cast grotesque shapes against the jagged walls and low ceiling. Everywhere laborers bustled; Jim caught a glimpse of some that could be no older than himself, deadened eyes gleaming out from blackened skin. Blood dripped from dirty open wounds; men yelled at one another across ncomprehendable distances; children sniffled and coughed; pickaxes twanged as they struck rock. Amidst all this dirt, noise, and pain, Jim stood looking lost in his clean breeches and tunic. Others glanced at him as he stood hesitating, but quickly moved on; he was of no concern, no special notice.     Jim looked about for anyone that could possibly help his cause, and spotted just the being; a tall alien in a pressed uniform, clutching a clipboard and barking at the laborers in-between scribbling on the clipboard with a second set of arms. The boy approached the alien, who completely overlooked Jim. Impatient, Jim tugged on the end of the clipboard, so the alien was looking straight down into Jim's face.     The alien seemed to take in the boy's appearance and grunted. "What do you want?" he growled none too friendly.     "My name is Jim Hawkins, and I'd like to fill in for my father."     "Name?"     "Uh… Leland."     The alien rifled through the clip of papers. "He's on sick leave. You're taking his shift?"     "Yes, sir."     "Alright then, John, get out of my face and go to work. You're on level nine with the other children, tunnel on your right, one break at noon, half wages, whine and you're out. Clear?"     "Err… yes, sir. And it's Jim, sir."     "Scram, Jack."   
  
    Jim found himself shuffled in a crowd of children of various ages, anywhere from preteen down to toddler. He felt like he was back at school around going-home time when everyone would crowd the door, but it was different this time, much different. All the children where waxen faced, their skin so bruised it was hard to make out the true color, lungs so filled with coal dust that every breath was a stabbing pain. Some had visible welts on or around their backs, and the cause of such an affliction was far beyond Jim's sheltered imagination. They had no protective clothing of any kind; most of their clothing was tattered and torn, and some of the boys did not even have tunics. They were all huddled and shivering, voices low as they waited for their shift to begin. Furtive glances were cast in his direction, but no attempts at conversation were made. There was no sympathy for the new kid; it was all too common.     All of a sudden a murmur swept through the room like tongues of flame, and movement flickered as the children pressed forward. The sound of chains clinking and wood scraping against rock tinkled in Jim's ears. He found himself pushed and elbowed to the front, where he was face to face with rope. Out of the corner of his eye he could see where the passage led off into an enclosed tunnel; too small for a grown man, but just right for a child on his knees. The rope was wrapped around his chest as he stared at the children crawling through the passageway, skin scraped raw on the bedrock, boxes behind them.     He was pushed forward again, and he felt the weight of the coal-filled box as a blow to the chest. The rope burned his skin where it rubbed against his tunic, and tears stung his eyes as he reflexively tried to lunge away, only to pull the box slowly behind him. A moment's hesitation wasn't afforded; he was shoved on his knees and he began crawling through the passage. Whatever light he still held slowly faded from his vision, as he seemed to crawl across the pages of infinity, the rocks clawing at his bare knees and hands, the strain of the rope slowly sapping out his energy.     The tunnel could have gone on forever for all he knew. It twisted into separate passageways, up and down, left and right; always he groped for the box being tugged along by another in front of him, trying to keep pace and direction. Thoughts could not be staged and put together, just flashes of memory, but nothing could quite compare; the darkness and claustrophobia of hiding under his bed, waiting for his mother to find him in silent glee; getting caught in the rain and accidentally falling on his knees; somehow he couldn't place his experience among them. Instead he tried to stay on one image: his father in the sick bed, the smell of musty cologne and the faded get-well cards in the moonlight.     The tunnel ended. He was pulled out by many small clutching fingers and palms, the burning rope of the harness slipped off. The other children scattered, all with their own loads. Jim tugged on his after the others, a flash of happy memory of tugging on a toy box crossing his mind. There were adults there, tall and faceless, who took the boxes away. But there were more boxes.     It seemed to go on for eternity in an endless carousel; or at least, that was how it felt for Jim, only seven years old and taking the world (or rather a large box of coal) on his small shoulders. Finally he collapsed at noon with the other children, all pale-faced and wheezing, some immediately passed out. And that was how Kent found him.     The miner had been passing by on his way to lunch break and somehow the sight of the Hawkins boy caught his eye; he immediately stopped and did a double-take, staring abashed at the happy little Inn boy he had seen not too long before now covered in coal, dirt, and blood. Without a thought he stormed over and kneeled down to Jim's level.     "Jim! Heavens, is that you?"     The boy blinked numbly back at Kent, who seemed to be fading in and out of focus. "Mr. Kent?" Jim muttered.     "Jesus… Jim, what are you doing here? Why aren't you at home? Does your mother know you're here?"     Jim slowly shook his head, but stopped; it made his head feel as if it were filled with hammers, all pounding against his skull. "I'm… helping Daddy. He can't work. I am."     "_Oh_… Jim, you wouldn't help your dad any by getting yourself killed, you're not cut out for this…" He bit his lip. His break was slowly ticking away, and he could think of nothing that could get Jim out of the mines without getting himself sacked. Kent could see that Jim obviously had only the best intentions for helping his father and his family, just all the wrong ideas; but there was no changing Jim's mind, no going back. "Listen, you just wait until my shift is over, okay? Come up to level three and I'll take you home."     _Home?_ Jim found himself nodding, and then the familiar face was gone.   
  
    Down in the mines, there was no sense of night and day. It was all dark, all lantern-lit. There were no windows, no little holes Jim could peek out of and check if the sun still hung in the sky. He kept driving on, shuffled between here and there wherever his efforts were needed, and soon his knees were scraped raw, his clothing soiled and his hair slick with oil, skin grimy with sweat and coal dust. Although it hurt he didn't cry, and though he got tired he didn't sit. The end of the shift couldn't have come any sooner nevertheless; he was being pushed with the other children back to the lift, all mirrors of Jim's own fatigue and pain. Kent found him stumbling around on level three, and though his muscles boiled from lifting pickaxes all day, he picked up Jim and carried him out. Back to the lift, back to ground level, out into the moonlight. Jim felt the breeze as it brushed across his flushed cheeks, and the fresh air was almost painful to his clogged lungs. He coughed and wheezed, then shut his eyes. He was too tired to talk, as much as he wanted to. He swore in all his young life he had never been so tired and never would again; he thought only of taking a long nap when he got home in his soft, warm bed, Patches at his feet; and perhaps the proud face of his father smiling over him, now that his son had grown up. 


	13. Scene 13 Whispers

    A pebble went skittering off the path, corkscrewing through the air and tumbling off into the darkness. The shoe that had so set it into motion continued on, stumbling, unsure. The stars twinkled behind the clouds in silent mockery, their laughter broken up into shimmering beams. It seemed to ring in Jim's ears; he tried to cover it out but the ringing remained, and when he turned his face to the heavens in question, their merry faces only reflected in his eyes. _What do they know that I don't?_     Up ahead the path wound, until all the mists of the night swirled into a drain of small, square firelight glowing through a frostbit windowpane. He was walking on his own, traveling a path blindly; but he knew it by heart. It was the path that always lead home, and he knew it better than any other.     Larger and larger the little square of light grew, as he seemed to struggle to rise above all the darkness he was leaving behind. Closer and closer he drew, until he could see the frost on the glass, the rust dripping from the windowsill, the candle flickering behind the pane. He stood for a moment, caught on the bridge between the path and the front porch of the Inn. The laughter trickled away, replaced by a haunting stillness in the air and the wind whispering in his ear. Jim looked over his shoulder, unperturbed.     "We're home!" Jim called back to Kent, a big smile lighting up his face. The young man was hovering in the shadows back on the path, hesitant to step into the light. Jim waited a moment for his friend to come join him, but Kent didn't move. Slowly the boy turned, smile fading. "Aren't you going to come inside with me?"     Kent was leaning uncomfortably on his left foot, as if willing it not to move. His eyes were obscured in shadow, and his face was unreadable. "I can't."     "Why not?" Jim felt his bottom lip start to tremble.     "Well… come here, I need to tell you something." Jim looked back at the door of his home, then walked back to Kent. The tired young man kneeled to better look the boy in the eye; the firelight seemed to gleam in Kent's eyes as he took Jim by the shoulders. "Jim, what you did today… well, it was the most thoughtful thing you could have done. Stupid, yes, but… it came from your heart. Now, you're still young yet, and there are going to be plenty of mistakes you will make in life that will hurt you… especially when they were made from the best intentions of your heart. And you're going to have to face out those consequences of your decisions alone; no one else can bear them for you. Only you are responsible for your actions."     Jim's shoulders tensed under Kent's calloused hands. "I was only trying to help…" Jim began, but Kent cut him off.     "I know. And no matter what, don't let anyone make you regret what you did. But… Jim, your father doesn't want your help. He's a good man, and a good friend, but he would never be able to appreciate the strength you showed today out of your love for him; he couldn't understand those feelings for him are possible. That's not him in you, that's your mother. And I'm afraid he's overlooked her feelings, too."     Jim cast his eyes down, absentmindedly toying with the collar of Kent's tunic. "What if… what I could make him understand?"     "Then I've underestimated you, Jim Hawkins," he said with a grin. "But perhaps even the most calloused hearts can be healed. Who knows?" He hugged the boy's shoulders, and Jim smiled. Kent pulled away. "But you take care of yourself now, okay? Get some rest, we don't want you getting sick too, heavens forbid..."     "I will." Jim replied, rubbing his nose with one hand and waving good-bye with the other as Kent stood up and walked down the path into the darkness. Jim stood up on his toes but couldn't see him any longer; resigned the boy turned back to the light, back across the little bridge to the front door. His hand fell on the doorknob, the cold metal chilling his skin- and he stepped inside, the whispers dieing at his back.   
  
    Patches lay curled by the fire, fur glistening with the reflection of the flames, almost as if the kitten were a ball of fire herself. One golden eye was cracked open slightly, as felines are wont to do when they doze, and her whiskers twitched as she let out a sigh of contentment. The tension in the air seemed hardly to affect the snoozing feline, almost as if she were just blocking it out. The language of the voices meant nothing to her, just the tone of them, which were low and anxious.     "It's been hours and we haven't heard anything… I cannot believe he would just… _take off_. He's never done anything like this before," a feminine voice was whispering.     Another voice sighed. "This is the hundredth time we've been over this," it drawled, low and raspy, as if it had just recovered from some illness. "I'm sure he's fine, the constabularies are doing all they can. He probably is with the Rileys and you are getting all worked up for no reason."     "No… I know my son, he wouldn't just leave."     "Maybe he would."     "…How could you know if he would or would not?"     Patches' ear twitched. Slowly she brought her head up, eyes blinking open as she looked over at the door, the voices drowning out. She caught the sound of the doorknob jiggling, the mechanisms in the lock clicking, and let out a little murr as a boy stepped into the room. A dozen smells came along with him, including new, unfamiliar ones. She hurried to her feet and pranced over, little bell jingling with every step.     Jim noticed the kitten at his feet and scooped her up, smiling again, happy to be back home. Patches blinked her huge gold eyes at him and purred loudly; her damp nose sniffed at his battered, dirty skin, and he winced as she licked some dry blood off a cut on his hand in an affectionate sort of way. Jim looked up to see his mother and father sitting at a table by the fire, who hadn't seemed to notice him come in. "Well, at least someone cares," he whispered down to the kitten, who just smiled in her own way.     The discussion paused and Sarah turned her head - and froze when she saw Jim standing at the door. Her heart stopped; Leland just made a gesture with his hand. "See, what did I tell you."     Sarah wasn't listening. Before Jim could even put down Patches he was swept up into a bone-crushing hug while his mother prattled in relief. "Jim, thank goodness! I've been so worried, where were you? Why didn't you tell me where you'd gone? Why are you back so late? Why- Lord!" Her hand suddenly flew to her mouth as she caught sight of her son's condition. "James Pleiades Hawkins, what happened to you? Are you alright?"     "Momma, I'm fine! I'm okay!" Jim had to practically wail as he tried to get away from his mother, who was turning about his face and arms looking at the wounds. Leland started walking over slowly, arms crossed. Jim looked up at him. "Daddy, you're up… are you better?" He said in an entirely different tone.     "Yes, Daddy is feeling a lot better," Leland said, looking at Jim questionably. "I'm going back to work tomorrow."     Jim slumped a bit in his mother's arms. "That's good… 'cause… I really don't want to go back. I love you, Daddy, but… I'm tired."     Everyone was silent a moment as this sunk in; except for Patches, who was still purring. "Jim, where were you today?" Leland said slowly.     "At the mines… I thought… since you couldn't work… that I'd work for you... _Please_ don't be mad at me."     Sarah stared credulously at Jim. "And they _let you_?"     Jim nodded. Leland's face was rapidly growing pale as he began to make connections. "Jim… why did you do that?"     The boy had to bite his lip to keep his breath from catching. "I… I just wanted to help. Christmas is coming, and we don't have any money… and you were sick… I thought, I thought maybe if I helped, then I could fix it. And you would be proud of me." He blinked away tears.     Sarah hugged Jim closer, at a loss. "My God, Jim, we could have lost you…" she murmured.     Leland had his face in his hand. He was desperately fighting a fit of rage that threatened to surge up. "Of all the _stupid_ things you could have done…"     "Leland, hush," Sarah snapped. "We'll discuss it later… I think Jim has had a long day as it is. Besides, I think you owe him something."     His jaw clenched. "What…? Oh… thank you, Jim."     Jim muttered something into his mother's shoulder as she lifted him up. Patches squeezed her way out onto the floor, bell tinkling as she hit the floor on all fours and shook her fur. She intertwined around Leland's legs as he watched Sarah and Jim disappear up the stairs, Jim sniffling all the way and Sarah murmuring. Patches began to cry up at him, but she was largely ignored. All Leland could think about were Jim's skinned knees and bruised arms… all because of him. In the pit of his stomach and the depths of his heart, he knew that would only be the beginning for Jim; as long as he was holding down the family, Jim would follow in his footsteps, just like all the other fathers he knew from the mines. And he had seen what happened to all of them - as sure as Jim must have. He was fighting something between ire and despair at the thought… he hadn't meant this to happen… but then again, he hadn't meant any of this to happen. It made his eyes burn to think it might have all just been a mistake, a mistake he made when he was too naïve to know any better.     Patches' cries finally broke through his thoughts, and he nudged the kitten away with his foot. The kitten stumbled and was immediately silent, slinking away, bell tinkling mournfully. Leland collapsed into a nearby chair, staring past the blinds of the window, which were set to an inappropriate spring meadow.     He just didn't know if he wanted to be held responsible. 


	14. Scene 14 Released

    The pickaxe struck the wall full force with all the power of human muscle and grit, but whatever clang it might have made was lost among the others. The machinery groaning, the fires roaring, and the rock shifting made the whole earth around seem to moan and rage over its destruction at the hands of its own creations. This hardly fazed the workers, who had little time to care for the pains of any other than themselves. Their only thought was set on the pay-check they hoped to clutch in their hands eventually, to put food on the table and pay back the bank, even as they wiped the sweat and blood from their eyes.     Kent wiped his eyes and leaned on the handle of the axe for a moment, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. He muttered a little prayer to himself, and hoped to God that no one saw him-     "-Slacking off on the job?" a voice said behind him, not without a touch of good nature.     He spun around, adrenaline pumping, but just as quickly relaxed. Kent smiled inwardly at the prank. "Hey, Leland… you haven't changed one bit."     Leland just had to laugh. "I wouldn't be so sure. Near-death experiences and two weeks of bed rest change a man."     "Wouldn't know. But… heck, it's great to see you, buddy." Kent pulled Leland into one of those heart-felt manly embraces with a friendly pat on the back (but not too close, heaven forbid).     It held for only a moment, and Leland pushed away. "Didn't miss me too terribly while I was gone?"     Kent rubbed his hands together and attempted to pry the axe out of the wall, all the while shaking his head. "Nope. In fact, the guys and I have been downright envious of you."     "Is that so?" he remarked with a smirk as he grabbed an abandoned pick and slung it over his shoulder, then reached out to steady Kent, who almost flew backwards when the pick came out of the wall.     "Yep," Kent replied, clutching his back. "So tell me, we just have to know: What's it like to actually _sleep?_"     Leland made a face as if he were tossing about for an answer in his head. "Pretty nice, actually."     "Heh. I should like to get one of these… 'terminal illnesses'."     "Wouldn't we all."     There was a tension between the two as they set to work, one momentarily forgetting the other's company. Kent found it hard to take.     "So… I saw your son yesterday."     Leland stopped dead with the pick hanging off his fingertips in front of him. His eyes seemed unnaturally dull. "Don't call him that."     "What? 'Your son'?"     "Yes. Don't. He is not… _my_ son," he said in a monotone.     Kent stared at him in shock. "Why do you say that? After what I saw, I'd certainly beg to differ."     Leland turned his gaze away and began to hack at the wall again, striking rock again and again and watching it crumble away. "Because I don't deserve to be called his father."     He could scarcely think of a response. He just stood watching Leland scratch at the wall. "You could try. He's never given up on you."     "Well, it's kind of late now."     Kent nodded, face drawn. "I get it. So you've given up on us all."     Leland's eyes flashed, but he couldn't bring himself to say a single word before they were interrupted.     "'Leland James Hawkins'?" A voice grunted from behind. Leland turned to come face-to-face with a rather scrupulous looking alien character, who was none too pleased to be running such errands. Leland shot the creature a skeptical look.     "Yes?"     "'Sir'," The alien corrected, doubly displeased now. "I should like a short word with you, Mr. Hawkins. Bring whatever you have with you, if you'd please."     "Oh… sir, yes, sir," He added quickly. The almost rock-like alien turned and began to amble away, obviously assuming the human would follow. Leland swept up his pack and slung it over his shoulder, casting Kent one last glance before following. The look he was left with made his stomach curl:     Kent was watching him leave like one would farewell a man headed for the gallows.   
  
    The little office was quite disarrayed and covered in dust, cold and filth. The crude walls had no covering for their naked sides and there wasn't a dab of natural light, only a lantern set on a broad desk amidst piles of papers and folders. Leland watched the stout alien putter around the room rummaging through the files and thought bitterly to himself. _If ever there was a hell, then I'm in it._     He was startled when the alien suddenly snapped up, clutching a file and glaring darkly at Leland, as if he had heard Leland's silent blasphemies. The man-who-was-not-Father tried not to look too guilty.     "Here we are, then," the alien grumbled as he brought the file down on the desk with a slap and flipped it open. "Now, Mr. Hawkins, you are aware you have been on sick leave for two weeks?"     "Of course, sir," Leland responded all too quickly.     "Don't get smart," he snapped, then reverted back to his fastidious tone. "Now, in the meantime, you have been working on the assignments we've sent you, is that correct?"     "Sir, yes, to the best of my ability. I've been very ill."     "Indeed," the alien grunted. "And I trust these have been completed?"     "They should be finished soon, sir."     "That is well. I understand you are currently entitled to the ownership of a property you've renovated into an inn, am I not mistaken?"     "No, that is perfectly correct, sir." Leland shifted a bit, wondering as to the sudden change in interest and its relevance.     "And how profitable would you say it has been for you?"     "Profitable enough, sir."     "Enough to sustain during your sick leave?"     "Again, just enough, sir." Perspiration was beading on Leland's brow.     "I see. Tell me, do you have any family you are currently supporting?"     His pulse quickened a bit. "My wife and young son, sir."     The alien's look was hardly sensitive. "And they are sustained by the inn profit as well?"     "Sir, yes, sir, for the most part."     The alien nodded and began to scribble on the files. Heartbeat drumming in his ears, Leland couldn't take it anymore. "Sir, may I ask what this is all about?"     He lifted his eyes and set his hands on the file. "I am releasing you, Mr. Hawkins. You are to return your complete assignments to me as soon as possible and you need not return."     Leland blinked at him in shock. "I… I'm _what?_"     "Released. Expunged. Fired. Need I continue?"     This took some coursing through his mind to really grasp. "I… you can't… _why?_"     "Well, if you want it sugar-coated, Mr. Hawkins, you are not needed here anymore. Your level is to be closed off by noon tomorrow, and we honestly do not have a place for you. Besides, your family seems as if it would get along just fine."     "But sir… Christmas is in a couple days… what am I supposed to do?"     "That is your problem, Mr. Hawkins. Not mine."     Leland stared down at the floor, numb. "Sir… what about my wages?"     "Wages? For what, pray tell? You haven't been here in a fortnight."     "Well actually, Jim… my son… came here yesterday and filled my shift. I don't want it to go to waste… it's very important to him."     The alien paused, grimacing at some internal conflict. "Very well," He mumbled after a moment. He pulled open a drawer, counted some coins into a little pouch, and flung it at Leland, who caught it against his chest. "The rest you will receive once the assignments are returned."     "Thank you, sir."     "Good day, Mr. Hawkins."   
  
    "Good morning, Jim!"     Jim slipped out of his thoughts to be confronted with the ever-jovial face of his alien companion, looking especially strapping in a silver-buttoned blue coat and immaculately set hair. The only flaw lay in the wiffs of sawdust here and there on the pockets and folds of the coat. "'Morning, Poquito," he muttered.     It was quite possible Poquito had forgotten all about the previous day's events (it seemed his personality didn't allow for such things to stay on the mind), and probably would not have remembered if it were not for the bruise coming in on Jim's cheek, where he had been sideswiped by a cart. Like some furry impression of Jim's mother, Poquito's paws flew to his mouth when he set eyes on it. "Jimmy! What happened? Are you okay? Ohhh… did your plan work?"     "I'm alright. Nothing happened. Nothing at all." Jim sat down on the edge of the sandbox, rubbing his cheek. Poquito sat next to him, looking sincere and somewhat frightened. "Nothing's changed… Mum's even more worried 'bout me, and Dad just hates me more. I've just messed everything up."     "I wish I could have been with you, Jimmy," Poquito sighed. "I hate to say it, but it is not as if my _papá_ did not warn you."     "I know… Poquito, I'm so confused," Jim bemoaned. He toed the ground in front of him as he watched the other kids run about the playground, every one smiling. "I've tried everything, and I just can't fix it. And now that I've been to the mines…" He looked at Poquito, brow furrowed and pupils wide. "Poquito, I can't go back. I never want to go through that again. I can't. I won't."     The Canian frowned. "I am sorry I am not of much help, Jimmy, but perhaps you don't have to. You know you are always welcome at the shop of my _papá_."     "Thanks… you just can't imagine what it was like. It was dark, and cold, and cramped, and-"     "-Perfect for a scab like you."     The two looked up to Samson's sinister face, pudgy hands on his hips, flanked by Thomas and Bleacher.     Jim's mouth drew to a line. "What do you want, Samson?"     "Oh, I couldn't help overhearing," Samson drawled with a look of mock innocence, eyes sparkling with suppressed malice. "So is that why you were gone yesterday? Taking up the trade and following in daddy's footsteps? How touching." Thomas chuckled; Bleacher just blew air through his nose slits and continued to look grumpy.     Jim felt his face burn. "Leave me alone, you guys."     Samson frowned. "You can't tell me what to do," he taunted. "Why can't you just take a hint, Hawkins? You just _belong_ at the mines, along with your wash-up of an old man. I'm surprised you've lasted this long."     Jim grit his teeth. "Shut up about my dad."     Samson blinked. "What'd you say?"     "I said," Jim leapt to his feet, so they were looking eye-to-eye. "_Shut up about my dad._ Just _shut up._" Jim spat, and gave Samson a violent shove against the shoulders, blood boiling.     Samson stumbled backwards a step, eyes widening in a combination of fear, shock, and manic glee. The playground activity was slowing as the tension began to spread, eyes turning on them. The two were locked in leers of fire, and Samson was laughing. "Hoe! So there _is_ something in there, eh?" Samson tapped Jim back, and Jim hesitated for a moment, hands clenching and unclenching. Samson shook his head and made to turn his back. "But no matter what, Hawkins, you'll always be nothing but a worthless cur with no future."     Jim swung his fist up and collided with the side of Samson's face, sending Samson tumbling to the ground with Jim on top. Before he could even make sense of what he was doing he was swinging at the surprised boy with all he could muster, fueled by rage. The voices of the children shouting as they ran over to get a better look and Poquito's protests seemed to be in another dimension.     Samson wasn't surprised for long, and he was at least twice Jim's size, disregarding height. The heavier boy easily threw Jim off and pinned him to the ground, pummeling the boy's already bruised face with his fat fists while Jim could only claw and hick back where he could. The children chanted in the background.     Things might have been grim if Samson hadn't been torn off Jim at the last moment, both still waving blindly at each other. Samson's lip was split, and blood was streaming from Jim's nose. Samson struggled against the strong arms that held him back, and Jim looked up to see Leland's grim face. His heart sank.     By this time the schoolteacher had come running out, babbling as she attempted to help Jim up. "Mr. Hawkins, what is the meaning of this?!" She was wailing to Jim.     "I didn't do nothing, miss!" Samson shouted, hanging off Leland's grip. "Hawkins just flung himself at me, honest!"     "And what, your first just found its way to his face?" Leland snarled.     "He's lying! You should have heard what he said!" Jim shouted back, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.     "Now boys, enough of this! Honestly, I am ashamed of you both. Never would I have expected something like this from you, James," The teacher snapped. Both boys glared at each other; Jim was the first to look away. "I can't imagine what would have happened if Jim's father hadn't shown up."     Samson seemed to grow very pale as he realized who it was holding him back, and he scrambled out of Leland's grip quick as he could, shuffling a little ways away like a puppy with its tail between its legs. Jim sneered at the sight. The spectators were beginning to disperse, as it was sure the action was over. Thomas and Bleacher were nowhere to be found.     The schoolteacher sighed, then glanced at Samson. "I _am_ going to have to talk to your father about this, Samson. And regardless of whoever started this… this _nonsense_… I want you _both_ to apologize."     "_Sorry,_" they both muttered, not looking each other in the eye this time.     "Mr. Hawkins, may I have a word with you?" she said to Leland after she was certain she was satisfied with their apology.     "Of course." He looked at Jim, whose face was red from both the fight and his own chagrin. "Stay put, Jim, I'll be right back."     "Yessir," Jim mumbled before the two grown-ups walked away. Samson and Jim were left standing there alone; except for Poquito, who was hovering not far away. A pause ensued. Suddenly Samson grinned.     "Great going, Hawkins. I never knew you had it in you."     Jim met his eyes, but just sniffed and looked away. "I'm not a coward. And my dad is not a… a wash-up."     Samson nodded and folded his arms. "Alright, okay. You know… if you ever need someone to help you with that jab of yours… well, you're welcome to join us."     Jim raised an eyebrow at him. "You serious? I thought you hated me."     "Well… maybe I did, but that was before you almost socked me out. I think you could really be great, just like one of us. Whaddya say, Hawkins? You in?" He held out his hand.     Jim stared at Samson's outstretched hand, then shook his head. "No thanks, Samson. I'm not like you."     Samson just smirked. "Not yet." 


	15. Scene 15 Candleburn

    The tunic, bloodstained and grieved, flapped about in a gale that brought boy and man ever closer to home. The care-worn fabric brushed up against the boy's skin in the breeze, sending a wave of goose bumps and shivers up his spine. He cringed against the side of the boat, frozen hands bringing no warmth as they rubbed frozen arms. All the while, his eyes never tore from the sunset. A ball of blinding fire was sinking in tidal waves of flame below the horizon, charring all that passed before it in silhouettes of black. Everything blazed in an angry holocaust, violent and maddening as it bathed the etherium in showers of crimson. Not for the first time Jim glanced sidelong at his father, watching the flames dance behind those apathetic eyes. Consumed in fire, he was stone cold.     His father had hardly spoken a word since the fight. In fact - now that Jim came to think on it - Daddy had barely looked his way, not so much as a glance. Daddy just sat there by the tiller, chin on one propped knuckle as he stared off pensively into the burning sky. Somehow, as Jim looked at his father, hair whipping about in the wind, he couldn't imagine all the nebulas and stars in the etherium being able to fill that space between them.     The solar sails cracked with every pummeled gust, crackling as the veins of them nearly burst with power. The boy couldn't help feeling the same. He looked away, but even when he closed his eyes, that red glare still burned outside his eyelids. Slipping down to the floor of the longboat he huddled, already beginning to rediscover all his bruises and sores, both without and within.   
  
    The engines died, the sails slackened, and the boat rocked as Leland climbed out onto the dock. Jim peered up over the edge, watching as his father stood brazened in the setting sun. Leland tugged on the mooring of the vessel until it was taut, and wrapped it around a bollard with an offhand but flourished knot. He seemed to hesitate, as if questioning his own resolve; with a sigh he turned his back and walked away. Not the first or last time Jim would see it. The boy glanced about and spotted the pack his father had left behind. He reached a hand to it, but then shrank away. Grabbing his books, he scrambled out onto the dock and ran after his father. His feet pounded on the long path, which wound up to the Benbow sitting at the top of the hill, framed in fire against the setting sun. Jim stumbled into the house just as the door shut.     Inside seemed only to be a reflection of the outside, the walls alive with the flicker of light from the fireplace, the candles in the window and on the mantelpiece, and the cooking stove simmering beneath evening supper. Sarah turned from the stove, brushing back a lock of hair from her rosy cheeks as the two came in, side by side. But there was no gasp this time, no tears, no emotion. She just turned away.     "Ms. Hemming dropped by an hour ago," she called back to them, busy at the stove once more. "She brought some of her Zerellian stew… if you're hungry, it should be ready in about twenty minutes."     Leland didn't reply, only stared at her back as if boring a hole somewhere between her shoulder blades. Tearing away the young man headed up the stairs, heavy boots pounding against the floor in a string of deadened echoes. A door slammed shut.     Jim stood at the front doorway watching, books tucked under his arm. He looked back to his mother, still standing quietly at the stove. He padded towards her, his gait insecure and slightly pigeon-toed. Coming around he glanced at her eyes, but only saw the flames from the stove reflected in them. She said nothing; she did not ask about the stains on his shirt, did not ask why they were back early, did not ask about his day and sweep him into her arms as she always would. The house, once so warm and inviting, was laced with ice.     Not sure what to think, Jim set his books on the closest table and slumped into a chair, letting his feet dangle off the edge. He began to trace the grain of the tabletop with his finger, drifting off a bit as he tried to find the words to say - something he never used to have a problem with. Things change.     "Mom?" Jim finally found the courage to speak, voice wavering a bit. "Momma?"     "Hmm?" She didn't look up.     "If… if you knew something about me, something bad… would you be angry with me?"     Her eyes lifted to him. "Why? What did you do?"     "You have to promise not to get mad."     "Why? Tell me, Jim."     "Promise first!"     "Alright, I promise! Now what is it?"     Jim braided his fingers together, biting his lips. "You promise?" he ventured.     "I promise," she assured.     He took a deep breath. "… I hit Samson at school today."     She stared at him. "You _what?_"     "It wasn't my fault, I swear!" Jim bleated. "You should have heard what he said! It was horrible! I couldn't take it."     "So you _hit him?_ Jim…"     He couldn't take the disappointment in her voice. It was new, and he didn't like it. "He hit me back!"     "That doesn't make it right!" Sarah's voice was rising a bit to match Jim's own. "You don't hit people, Jim, no matter what. I thought you knew better than that!"     "But I hate him, momma! He says mean things. It _hurts!_ I want him to hurt, too."     "_Jim!_"     The boy was beside himself now, clinging to the back of the chair. "You said you wouldn't get mad! You promised! You _promised!_"     His last shout faded into silence as she just stood staring at him, ignoring the boiling stew. Her eyes glimmered, but she blinked it away. "That's right," she whispered. "I promised. I'm sorry… Jim, I'm so sorry … I'm just disappointed. That's all. I never expected to feel that way about you."     Jim set his head against the back of the chair. "I know, Momma. I'm sorry… I tried."     Sarah looked away, and only just seemed to have noticed the stew beginning to boil over. Quickly she extinguished the flames and the boiling stopped, leaving behind a vat of thick white paste. "Are you hungry?" she asked him without glancing again.     Jim set up in his chair. "Yeah! … Please," he added, blushing.     She couldn't help smiling a bit as she ladled some into a bowl for him. Jim slipped out of the chair and hurried over. "Now, you'll need to be _very_ careful with this," she said as she handed the bowl and a spoon to her son. "You should let it cool for a moment, it's still very hot."     "'Kay." Jim took the bowl and spoon gingerly into his hands, careful not to slip or spill a single bit as he set it down at the table. He sat just watching it, legs swinging again, impatient. Sarah smirked to see him so normal in that moment, but the moment was soon to be lost.     Leland came trudging down the stairs, pulling his coat on as he went. Mother and son turned to watch in alarm as he grabbed his hat and headed for the door. Sarah was quicker.     "Leland? Where are you going?"     "Out." He hesitated about the hat.     "'Out'? Out where?" Her voice was edging once more.     "Can't say for certain." Definitely lose the hat.     She turned away from the stove. "Well, when will you be back?"     "I don't know."     Jim suddenly remembered the pack he had left in the boat. "Momma…" he began to murmur, but she cut him off.     "Jim, take your soup to your room, your father and I need to talk," she said slowly to him, never losing eye contact with her estranged husband.     "But…"     "_Now_, Jim."     Surprised and thoroughly shaken, he grabbed the bowl and hurried up to his room as quickly as he could without spilling. He couldn't bear to look up at his father. As soon as they heard the door click upstairs, she began again.     "Leland, what is going on? First Jim and now you? I don't know what to think anymore. Every time he comes home I'm scared what might have happened to him... please say I don't need to worry about you as well."     Upstairs, the door creaked open. Jim poked his head out, ever so cautiously, and crawled to the railing, which opened to the room below. He peeked his head through the bars, wrapping his hands around them, watching the forms of his parents.     Leland looked down at his boots, shoulders starting to tense beneath his coat. "I'm sorry, Sarah," he began. "It's just out of my hands."     "What is?" She stepped closer. "If this is your choice, then it is _clearly_ all in your hands…"     "Oh, that's not what I mean…" he stammered, looking grim. "Sarah, I was released today. I was told not to come back."     There was a pause as Sarah (and Jim above, even if they did not know it) tried to take this in. It couldn't be true. Jim gripped the rails. It couldn't be true. His mother spoke the question burning on his mind: "What does this mean?"     "It means I'm out of a job," he snapped. "Permanently. It's done."     She gaped at him, not much further than a matter of feet away. "_What?_ Why?"     He was starting to look increasingly uncomfortable as each second ticked by. "I don't know myself, Sarah. But as far as I see it, I'm not needed anymore."     "There must be some mistake…"     "There's no mistake. I have the paper work."     "So it's over for good, then."     "I guess."     "So you're leaving? _Why?_"     "Just as I said: I'm not needed anymore. By anyone."     Jim had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. _No… no… I need you, Daddy…_     "That's not true and you know it, Leland," she retorted. "This Inn needs you. Your _family_ needs you!"     "Oh really, it does? I'm what it needs? Funny, because I've gotten the total opposite impression," he raged. "The only reason we're starving and this 'family' is falling apart is because of me."     "_Leland…!_"     "No, don't patronize me! Don't even! Ever since we've met I've been nothing but your _problem_. Your father saw that, but I certainly didn't. No. I had _everything_ under control then. I had plans; I was going to get somewhere. And then you had _Jim_…"     Jim's heart clenched and Sarah's eyes flashed. "_Don't you bring him into this…_" she hissed, but he didn't listen.     "What in God's name was I supposed to do, Sarah? I was 19 and all of a sudden I've got this _kid_ to look after and support…"     "You're not the only one who had to go through that, Leland! I was 17, remember? I gave birth to him! He's my son, and yours! He has nothing to do with this..."     "He has everything to do with this! Because of me your son has had to live with a father like I am! Because of me he has no food, no _future_, and no friends. It was because of me he went to the mines, and I was the reason he was fighting at school."     "And you're leaving because of him?"     "Damnit, Sarah, I'm leaving _for_ him! You'll be better off without me holding you down, anyway!"     "Just shut up, Leland, you ass! You're _horrible!_ I can't believe this…"     "_Don't tell me to shut up!_ If you think for one minute…"     All the shouts swirled together in the boy's eardrums until he was left clutching at them. _Make it stop. Please make it stop. Make it go away…_ He found himself screaming. "Stop! Stop it! Stop _fighting!_"     "_Shut up, Jim! Stay out of this!_" Leland screamed back.     Jim's whole body flinched in shock as if it had been hit. Tears stung his eyes as the house fell silent, both parents staring up at their son. Sarah's cheeks were already flushed with tears and Leland's face, just moments before contorted with rage, was slowly fading to surprise.     "Jim… I…" Leland began in a tone much lower, but just the mention of his name was another slap on the face for Jim. With a sob the boy turned and ran back to his room, slamming the door behind him. The echo of it seemed to reverberate painfully in their ears as the two below listened, only to hear the shatter of broken crockery as the soup bowl was knocked over, and the muffled sound of Jim's sobs.     "Heavens, what are you doing, Leland?" Sarah muttered after a moment.     His shoulders relaxed with a pained sigh. "Look, I didn't know he was there, alright? I just got carried away, that's all. I didn't… I mean…"     Sarah looked up at him, eyes sparkling. "You know what, Leland… if this is what you want, then get out. Just get out."     He looked back into her eyes - and just once, he saw something there that made him hesitate. Regret. The girl in the spring dress with the flower in her hair, waiting for love. He still remembered that look on her face, watching her with breath held on the other side of the street, when she thought she had lost it. Never would he have believed he'd be facing it again. "Alright," he said slowly. "Alright, I will."     From his room, face buried in his pillow, Jim could hear the footsteps as Leland walked out the door and set off to the docks. Breath catching Jim scrambled to his feet and ran to the window, peering off into the evening as the last tinges of red bled below the horizon. Even in the deepening darkness, Jim could still see the flare of the thrusters and hear the roar of the engines. He watched as the outline of the boat lifted up into the etherium, caught the wind, and disappeared. But all the while he watched and stepped back from the sill, Jim could have sworn he noticed one thing:     His father looked back.   


--------

Author Note: _What I wrote below this after I finished writing it last night at 3 AM: "Good Lord I'm tired."  
Not much to say... I was a bit anxious about writing this, wondering if I could pull it off. One part is based on a personal memory, when Leland yells back at Jim by accident... except I was 8 and it was me and my sister who got yelled at for trying to stop them. Hopefully that's believable...  
*waves to her reviewers* Thanks so much, you guys, I appreciate it to death....  
And an extra special thanks to Vappa, who told me the "little post thing on a dock you tie ships to" is a bollard. Kudos. - Tigrin 4/4/03_


	16. Scene 16 Wishes

    At first he thought the hunger pangs were surely what had thrown him from his blissful, dreamless slumber. Jim winced as a spasm of pain ripped through his body from his gut, roaring and gurgling in his ears, leaving his head spinning. The boy pushed himself up, blinking; he had been lying on his stomach with the side of his face pressed into the pillow. He was still in his clothes, not even under the covers; as if he had just fallen on his bed and nodded off. Jim could barely think, barely remember anything for a few seconds as he glanced around the dark room, stone cold in the dead of the night. Then he realized what had really woken him up.     The door was cracked open slightly, a stream of soft light fading away across the floor. Faintly he could hear a low whimper down the hall, which suddenly broke into loud, sobbing gasps. If someone had screamed in his ear, it would not have hurt as much. Reeling a bit as he slid off the bed (oh how he wished he hadn't kicked that soup bowl…), he peered out the door and headed for his mother's room.     Rarely did she ever leave her bedroom door open, not since the house had been converted to an inn. Those were the days when he would run frightened to his parents during a thunderstorm, seeking refuge. Or when he would jump about wildly in the middle of the night with the announcement of a loose tooth. Not anymore. Perhaps tonight was different. The house was empty, with the exception of those two. Jim pushed open the door and looked in. "Momma?"     She was curled up in a dark tangle of sheets, her back to him. Her hair, no longer up, was spread across the pillow in an auburn flow. Jim couldn't help but notice how lonely she looked, in that big bed with all that extra space. Maybe that's why she was crying.     When he called, Sarah barely moved, except to curl up a bit more. There was a pause, a sniffle, and the whimper again. Listening, Jim felt as if his heart were connected to the sound, slowly bleeding.     "Mom…" he pleaded desperately, climbing on the bed just as she sobbed again. It rang in his ears and put a vice on his heart, bringing tears to his eyes. "Mom, please don't cry, please…"     Jim wasn't sure what to do. She wouldn't stop, just shook and sniffed. In despair, he curled up next to her and hugged her shoulders.     All at once she stopped, her breath trailing away and her back tensing. Jim set his cheek on her shoulder and continued to whisper "_Please don't cry, please don't cry…_" over and over. Finally, with a sniff, she turned her head and looked back at him. He could see her eyes swollen and glistening with tears in the darkness, face streaked. He hated seeing his mother that way. Hated it. It tore at him, frightened him to death. Tears splashed down on the shoulder of her nightgown.     She wished she could say something to him, anything. He wished she would. At least, with trembling heart, he realized she wasn't crying anymore. Sarah turned over, letting her son fall off her shoulders to sit on his knees, eyes wide and hair tousled as he gazed at her in the dark. Almost overcome with grief again, she hugged him close to her, setting her cheek on top of his head.     And they stayed that way until tears escaped them both, and the sun began to rise on the morning of Christmas Eve.   
  
    With a tiger's face-splitting yawn, Kent stumbled to the door, sleepy-eyed and weary. _Knock, knock, knock._ "Yeah, hold on, I'm coming," Kent hollered as he groped for the doorknob, found it, and pulled open the door.     A man hovered in the shadows, buried in a thick jacket, a pack slung over one shoulder. The sun hadn't yet risen and the twitchy young man was indistinguishable in the dim starlight.     "Can I help you?" Kent croaked, rubbing an eye and fighting the urge to yawn once more. But the mysterious visitor was making him edgy, and he was increasingly alert.     The man seemed to hesitate, then stepped forward a bit. "Kent?" The voice was strained and hoarse. Very familiar.     Kent let out a sigh and dropped his hand, his guard slowly backing down. "_Leland?_ Good God, it's 3 in the morning."     "I know." Uncomfortable shift.     "What happened? Wh- what are you _doing_ here? You should be home at this hour…"     "I'll tell you in a second… do you mind if I come in? I've been walking for hours…"     Kent shook his head and stepped aside. "No - I mean - sure, go ahead…" He cut himself off with another yawn behind his hand.     Leland stepped into the small house, swinging his pack down by the hearth. The room was definitely a bit warmer than outside, but the fire had been out for hours now. Kent closed the door and flicked on a lantern, which flooded the room with the flicker of warm light. The complex little generator beneath it whirred and crackled quietly. The two young men stood and blinked as their eyes adjusted. Leland collapsed in an old armchair as soon as he could see, legs stretched out and head tilted back. Kent leaned against the short bookcase supporting the lantern, arms crossed, as he looked Leland over.     There was something in the man's face that stirred a sort of pity in Kent's heart. Deep lines were etched on Leland's face, and black rings spinning beneath his eyes told of exhaustion soul deep. Coal dust was caked in the recesses of the jacket and in his hair. Flicks of blood were splattered on his tunic mixed with the telltale sign of tears, and snowy mud was plastered on his boots. He was - Kent concluded - nothing short of a tramp and a miserable wreck.     After a pause, Kent spoke, a little more confident now that he was awake. "So? Are you going to tell me?"     "Hmm?" Leland lifted his head and blinked at Kent. "Oh…" He sat forward and gave a rattled, anxious sigh. "I don't know what to say, Kent. It's gone. I've lost everything now. My job, my wife, my son… just, gone." He made a careless gesture with his hand, as if sweeping something away.     Kent frowned. "Why, what happened with Sarah and Jim?"     "_Nothing! I did nothing!_" Leland snapped, then seemed to realize his mistake. His voice lowered again. "I mean… no… no, it was all my fault… I tried to take off and Sarah caught me. Told her everything, said they'd be better off without me. Jim heard the whole thing. Sarah and I started to… raise our voices… and Jim, he… he tried to stop us. I couldn't help it, Kent, I just couldn't. You just heard me, I get so caught up, I was so torn… I yelled at him, Kent. Screamed at him. I shouldn't have said it, _he shouldn't have been there_… he ran off and Sarah kicked me out. Told me to leave if that's what I wanted. So I left." He fell silent for a moment. Kent just stared at him, brows furrowed. Leland suddenly looked up and met Kent's gaze, his eyes glossy. "Kent, I may never see them again."     Kent dropped his head and kicked at the dust floor. "Isn't that what you wanted?"     "Yes. Of course… well, maybe… no. No."     He looked back up. "Why'd you change your mind? After all that, everything you've told me before?"     Leland buried his face in his hands. "_I don't know_, I… it's different now. I didn't realize it. All those feelings are gone in me, just as I told you, but… it's still there. In _them_. Looking into Sarah's eyes one last time, I finally understood… she kept it, all along, waiting for me. I blew it, I can't believe I didn't see…" He lapsed off.     Kent smirked, recalling. _Perhaps even the most calloused hearts can be healed._ "What are you going to do about it? I care about you, Leland, but you can't live here."     Leland shook his head slowly. "No, no… Kent, I can't go back, I just can't… I'll go to Crescentia, find somewhere else to go… but I can't go back, not now, not after all this…"     "Why not?" Kent tilted his head.     "I can't face her. I can't. Not her, not Jim. What good would it do, anyway?" he muttered the last line bitterly.     Kent folded his arms. "A whole lot of good, if you ask me. Leland, your own son handles his faults better than you do. He makes mistakes, but at least he can put them in the past. If you can't confront what you said and how you feel, all you'll ever do is lose everything over and over again until you run yourself into the dust. Right now, at Christmas of all times, I'm sure they want you home just as much as you do. Even if you can't stay."     Leland lifted his head, contemplative. "I've missed so many Christmases," he muttered. "I didn't even notice." He pulled something out of his pocket, a sort of oval locket that shimmered bronze in the lanternlight. Leland stared at it. "I bought this ages ago, before I got sick… that's why I was working overtime every night, to pay it off. Sarah will never know…"     Kent smiled. "She doesn't need to. Just give it to her."     Leland sighed, leaning back into the chair. "Easier said."   
  
    "Sarah! You look _terr_- … -ific today."     She glared darkly at him. "Thank you, Delbert." Sarcasm dripped from her voice as she closed the door behind him.     Delbert blushed furiously, averting his eyes. He glanced about the crowded in, which was filled with the hum of low chatter. "Err, I mean, you always look lovely…" he stuttered. "_Not that I'm looking_… but… wait, let me try that again…"     Sarah forced a smile. "Just say what you mean. I look terrible, don't I?"     He paused. "Well, perhaps you appear, uh… a little more _strained_ than usual. Might I pry?" Delbert folded his coat over a chair and sat down.     She stood above the table, hair falling into her face as she glanced down. "Oh, I just had trouble sleeping, that's all." At the look on his face, she rolled her eyes. "No, not like _that_…"     He grinned, floppy ears rising a bit as he smiled. "Of course. But honestly, what is bothering you? I've not seen you this upset since Leland fell ill…" Delbert spoke remorsefully, as if it were a shame the affliction were not more sever. He leaned forward slightly. "… Is it him?"     "I know you've never liked him, Delbert, but…" Sarah looked anxiously over her shoulder, but did not see Jim anywhere. She sat in the chair opposite Delbert and folded her hands, gazing down at them. "Leland was released from his job yesterday," she said softly. "And… well, I guess he's gone."     Delbert stared incredulously at her. "What, he just… _left_?"     "Well, maybe he might have wanted to at first… maybe he has all along… but I told him to go." She had to catch herself. She couldn't break down again. Not in front of Delbert. "I just hope he's happy now."     "_Oh_… Sarah, I'm so sorry… that is just absurd, at _Christmas!_ Why, if I saw him, I would certainly give him a piece of my mind…"     "No, Delbert, don't… it's fine, really. I'll be alright. Though… as much as I hate to admit it, I'm sorry to see him go. Now, when we need each other the most… the three of us."     "How's Jim taking it, speaking of which?"     "Hard… he doesn't really understand. He still thinks Leland's coming back."     "Poor boy…"     She set her chin on her palms. "Family is everything to him… especially his father. Jim's just so used to doing everything right, winning over Leland's affection was just another challenge for him… if Leland doesn't come back, he's failed. How is a child supposed to take that?"     Delbert sighed. "He'll grow up thinking he's a failure."     Sarah's eyes began to shimmer. "I just wish… for once… we could spend this Christmas together."     There was a silence between them as each sat with their own mulled thoughts. Delbert suddenly stood up, gathering his coat. Sarah looked up at him in surprise.     "Where are you going?" she asked, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief she had been twisting about between her fingers.     Delbert couldn't help but smile. "Oh, well, you see… I just realized… I should really be getting back to the Manor. Christmas Eve, you know, Grandma's waiting for me…"     Her face brightened a bit as she watched him, her chin resting on one hand, clutching the piece of cloth. "I thought you wanted to get away from all them."     "Yes, that… I'm afraid something has come to my attention… yes," he cleared his throat nervously. "I should be home for Christmas. With my family. A bother as they may be, Heavens, they're all I have. So… Sarah, I bid you good evening, and I hope to see you tomorrow."     Sarah smiled as he walked to door. "Merry Christmas, Delbert."     He waved to her. "And a merry Christmas to you!" And with that he left, humming "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" to himself in all good cheer.   
  
    Jim had never seen such a colorful group of guests. Most were staying for the holiday to visit with family down in the hamlet. Others were just seeking a spot to settle for the night and share the spirit. His mother whipped up a whole vat of eggnog, and soon men and women, alien and human alike, were brimming with it. Jim sipped at his own mug of cocoa, watching as the guests roared with laughter and bellowed Christmas carols, shaking dust off the rafters with the merry sound. Sullen as he was, Jim couldn't help but catch the feeling. He found himself smiling and laughing, singing along to the songs he knew and clapping to the ones he didn't, even (much to his surprise as well as everyone else's) getting swept up into a two-step with the cranky toad lady that had visited weeks ago. Sarah prepared what food was left in the stores and it was passed around with relish, washed down with eggnog and caroling. The excitement did not fade until late in the night, when the guests began to stumble wearily up to their rooms, still hiccupping bars of unintelligible Christmas babble.     He sat by the big window, turning the empty mug about in his hands as he set his cheek against the cold glass. Patches lay curled up on the windowsill, purring softly. Sarah was picking up dishes and mugs still dripping with the foamy drink, every once in awhile glancing at her son. Jim was gazing out at the stars, lost in thought.     Jim didn't really believe in wishes. All he ever heard in his life was the ultimatum of "Life's rough, live with it". Dreams just throw you off, bury you. Make you weak, a coward. But Jim was a dreamer. He wasn't ready to trust in that world, not just yet. Since he was carried back into the light after the mining incident, he was only getting used to the fact that not everything was in his power to fix. That he might need help sometimes. Jim placed his hand on the window, looking out at the stars, and found himself speaking to them in his head.     _I don't know if anyone can hear me_, he thought, _but I know I never ask for much. I tried everything. It didn't work. I know I wasn't gonna ask for anythin' this Christmas, but… I decided to change my mind. There's something I'd like. For my daddy to come home. So I can see him. And tell him… I still need him. I'd like…I wish… my daddy would come home. For Christmas. Please, that's all I want…_     "Jim?" His mother said behind him, jostling him from his silent prayers. "Are you all-right?"     "Huh?" Jim looked back at her. "Oh… yeah, Mom, I'm fine."     She wrapped her arms around his shoulders with a grin. "Are you excited about Christmas tomorrow?"     He smiled up at her. "Yeah."     "What'd you wish for?"     "Oh… nothing."     Her smile faded, and she looked out at the stars. Snowflakes glittered beyond the pane. Patches looked up at the two with the tinkle of her silver bell, round eyes inquisitive. Sarah hugged her son's shoulders gently, and Jim held on to her hand.     "Merry Christmas, Mom."     "Merry Christmas, my solar flare."   


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Author Note: _Augh... the chapters just keep getting longer! Quite unintentional... I might need to reorganize my fic into acts instead of scenes. ;) Oh well. Almost done now! I'm actually surprised I was able to cram this in... I've been extremely busy all weekend with homework and what-not, I was worried I wouldn't finish this in time.  
I've actually been dieing to write the scene with Jim at the window since I started this fic... it was one of the original scenes I had in my head, besides the fight, and the ending. Heh.  
Anyways... hugs and thank yous to my reviewers, yuss. *hearts* Hope you'll stick with me to the end. 16 days till the DVD! I can't wait... - Tigrin 4/13/03_


	17. Scene 17 A Moment to Be Real

    If only the dreams were like the ones in songs, filled with glistening white snow and dancing sugarplums. No - it was one dream; but different, over and over. Each time Jim woke up in tears. He tried to make the images go away, blinking and rubbing at his eyes, but they burned in his mind. The memories wouldn't leave.     Each one was Christmas morning over and over. The first was happy. The sun shone, his mother smiled. Daddy came home. After that, the scene began to change. It stormed. Momma frowned. Daddy didn't come home. Someone yelled, someone laughed, someone cried. Each time he woke with the fear that Christmas morning had been the real one, only to glance around the room - increasingly lighter, ever familiar - and realize Christmas had yet to come.     So when Christmas morning did finally come, he opened his eyes hesitantly, wondering if it were but another dream. Jim looked over his shoulder, blinking. Morning glowed from behind the clouds. He sat up, tugging at his pajamas. The cloth was soft to the touch. He could feel the cool air, smell gingerbread basking as the scent wafted beneath his door, hear the muffled sound of voices beyond. It felt real; he wanted to believe it. With reluctance, Jim rose.   
  
    A few minutes later he stepped inquisitively down the stairs, pulling on the ends of a thick white shirt. The Inn was already up and bustling, the guests standing or sitting about with breakfast and glasses of purp juice, talking and laughing. With a pang of excitement, Jim glanced at the Christmas tree, which was sheltering many wrapped packages and toys, and a small maroon kitten. Patches was chewing on the ribbon of one package, rolling about and clawing at the bright material. Jim came bounding the last few steps, a smile beginning to touch his face as he saw her.     Sarah was standing by the window in the back, the holo-blinds clear to the wintry scene outside. She grinned as she chatted with some guests, her hair pulled back and perfectly in place, a casual, muted red dress swaying with her every move. Her eyes wandered and caught Jim's, and the irises twinkled as she excused herself and swept over to him.     "Merry Christmas, Jim," she said, kneeling next to him and kissing him on the forehead. The boy playfully stuck his tongue out at the public display of affection (he could see some of the guests watching or murmuring in amusement); on seeing her face, however, his thought changed. She smiled with a much lighter countenance and spirit than before, as if some heavy weight had been lifted off her heart, if only for a time. He grinned.     "Who are all these presents for, Mom?" Jim inquired casually, looking over his shoulder. Patches shook her head, bell ringing sharply, glaring at the ribbon in a disgruntled sort of way.     Sarah decided to play along. "Well, I don't know! I suppose they must belong to someone…"     He sighed. "They sure do look nice. Whoever gets them will be very lucky." Jim stood tall, shifting his weight back and forth.     "They will indeed. In fact…" Sarah suddenly gave a mock gasp of surprise, which made the boy jump in his anxiety. "Why, I don't believe it…!"     He hopped on the toes of his shoes. "What? What is it?"     "I think there might be one for you here!" She could barely keep a straight face.     Jim's eyes widened, in that kind of excitement only children could build. "A present? For me?"     "Uh-huh!" She slowly edged away, standing beside a nearby table as he spun around and began looking wildly about the tree, inspecting the packages. The kitten cried indignantly as he tried to pry the ribbon from her claws.     "Which one is it, Momma? Which one? I don't see it."     "Keep looking." Sarah pulled the bulky holo-vid camera off the table. The screen flickered and shifted to a hazy picture of Jim looking back past the camera at her, tugging on the limbs of some big purple toy.     "Is this it, Mom? Is this it?" Jim hoisted the floppy reptilian plush up on his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.     She laughed. "Yes, that's it! Delbert brought it over for you last night. Do you like it?"     "Yeah!" Jim sat by the tree, hugging the toy and looking it over. He ran his fingers over the smooth fabric. A new toy, just for him. His mother smiled as she watched him, setting the camera down.   
  
    The morning fluttered by in a wink of gift-wrap and toothy grins. Jim watched in delight as the rest of the presents were exchanged between the guests - almost as if he were receiving some of the joy himself just in watching them. Caroling was taken up again, though lightly, and whenever a guest should leave there would be a rounding chorus of Christmas greetings. The morning's guests trickled away, until only mother, son, and feline remained. With a sigh, Sarah began tidying up in preparation for the evening soon to be at hand. The giddiness of the holiday faded a bit as Jim looked around, beginning to pick up the scraps of shiny ribbon and paper scattered about the tree. His hand fell on a few pine needles clustered together. He drew back, staring for a moment - then rubbed his eyes, turning away. He ran to the kitchen, throwing the wad of shiny wrapping in the disposal, teeth gritting. The boy knew he was upset, so upset all of a sudden, but he could not understand why. Jim knew he should be happy; everything was perfect so far. It was the best dream he had had yet, if it were - but something was still wrong. There was one star missing from his perfect sky. Feeling lost and confused in the wake of such a happy, peaceful time, Jim stepped back into the dining room.     His eyes wandered over to the door, where his mother was greeting someone. Jim didn't particularly care whom. He slunk back over to the tree and sat down next to his toy, face darkening. Patches looked up at him, ribbon clenched in her mouth, at a loss. The conversation at the door was beyond his interest, but gradually it caught his attention.     "… Well I'm rather surprised to see you here so early, Kent," his mother was saying. "The party's not for another few hours…"     "I hope I'm not disturbing you, Mrs. H," Kent replied. Jim glanced over, curious. The young man was looking more strapping than usual, hair combed back and face clear of coal dust, a cap turning about in his hands. "I just thought I'd come visit and wish you a merry Christmas! How are you doing?" Kent peered over at Jim from the door and smiled. The boy reluctantly returned it.     "We're all-right, thank you." If she wanted to speak further, she couldn't get it in.     "Just 'all-right'?" He chimed. "But it's Christmas! Family, presents, mistletoe, and all that! You know, love and fellowship and…"     "For God's sake, Kent, are you trying to sell her a wreath?" An annoyed voice cried behind him.     Kent scowled as he was shoved aside by the shoulder. "Yes, yes, I was getting to that…!"     Leland stepped into view beside Kent, his eyes locked on Sarah's. He looked just as haggard as before, pale with cold and weariness, but to Jim all the angels of the heavens would not have looked more pleasant. On seeing his wife, a blush returned to Leland's cheeks, and there was a stunned silence as they all stood frozen. All thought left Jim, unable to react. Faintly, he began to wonder if he might wake up.     His father looked very awkward, and for a moment Jim feared Leland might turn and run again. But he stood in place, the pack in his hands, still locked with Sarah in the most sincere gaze Jim had ever seen. It was a wonder Leland found courage to speak.     "I don't expect that you might forgive me, Sarah," he began, voice low. "And I don't expect anything of the sort from Jim, either. I've done nothing that I might ever be considered a father in his heart or your eyes, and I don't expect that I ever will. For all the best, you could just close the door on my face and walk away." He paused, as if expecting her to do just so. Her fingers tightened on the door, but otherwise she just stared at him, eyes beginning to shimmer as he went on. "I know I've messed things up completely for you both, that I've ruined this family, and I know how much it hurts you," he said, a note of pain in his voice. "I tried but I guess now I'm too late. I'm sorry it took all these years, an illness, a job, and all that ever mattered in my life to realize. I don't think I will ever change, and I hold with how I feel and what I said… most of what I said… but… it's Christmas. And what I want… what I want is to spend it with you."     For an agonizing moment, she didn't move. Then Sarah's hand slipped from the door and rested on his shoulder, sliding down to his hand. Her eyes scanned his face, searching, and finally she broke into a smile. "You're late."     Leland breathed in relief, clasping her hand. "I'm sorry."     Kent suddenly laughed, slapping his hat against his knee. "Mrs. Hawkins, you need to stop losing your boys! I can't be returning them all the time, you know."     Heart weightless, Jim scrambled off the floor and ran to his father. "Daddy! Dad!"     Leland grinned down at his son, releasing Sarah's hand, and this time lifted Jim up high. The boy giggled. "Hey, solar flare!" he said as he tucked Jim against him. "So what did you see in the stars last night?"     He shook his head. "Doesn't matter." And with that, Jim burst into tears - for once, out of happiness.   
  
*  
  
    He stayed for six months. That first week was the happiest Jim would know for years to come. For a moment, everything felt real and whole to his young heart. Then his father began to drift again, worse than before. Try as he might Jim failed, one chance after another. One morning a few days after his birthday he awoke to hear a door slam. He glanced out his window and flew out of bed, scrambling down the stairs. Terrified, streaming tears, he ran after his father, always just beyond his reach. The ship cast off just as he reached the end of the dock - a moment too late. Jim hung off the bollard, reaching and crying for his father. As he watched the ship fade into the sunlight, he was sure of one thing:     His father didn't look back.   
  


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Author Note: _And it is FINISHED. Huzzah! ... oh dear, I promised myself I wouldn't cry... does anybody have a tissue?  
    Wow, I really don't know what to say... I've dreamed and day-dreamed this fic straight for about five months, and it's finally finished. I can't believe it. I've set a goal and met it, and I'm proud of myself. It's a rather extraordinary achievement, as I can never seem to finish anything I start, especially when it comes to writing... in the case of long-term projects like this, I haven't finished one in eight years, when I was nine and writing about talking stuffed animals.  
    I have, of course, looked over my whole fic and made sure it all fits together and made little changes here and there... but otherwise, here you have it. Thank you so much to all my reviewers, especially the ones who have stuck with me the whole way... you've helped fuel my unreliable motivation, thank you for reading and actually letting me know what you thought... it means so much to me. To all my fellow Treasure Planet fanfiction writers and artists... you've been such an inspiration, thanks for sharing your work with us. To all my friends who bothered to listen to me as I rambled and encouraged me... you have my heart.  
    Look forward to another Treasure Planet fic... it's already underway. ;) I'm sure I will enjoy it just as much as I've enjoyed writing this, and I hope others will, too. Till then, ~ Tigrin, 4/21/03
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